


Uh-oh

by TellMeNoAgain



Series: So Much Trouble [19]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Domestic Discipline, Dominance, F/M, M/M, Multi, Power Imbalance, Spanking, Starker D/s, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:07:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22333126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TellMeNoAgain/pseuds/TellMeNoAgain
Summary: Read at your own risk- SPANKING INSIDE~~~“Tony, I swear to God, we will be late, dress your toy already,” shouts Pepper from the hallway.Mr. Stark shouts back, “No, we’re not going, I want him naked forever,” his fingers playfully stroking through the cum rapidly cooling on Peter’s stomach.“I will kill you,” grates Pepper, poking her head through the doorway.  Peter glances over, still shaking and gasping, and notices that her hair is in a complicated coif and her make-up is war paint designed to humble all viewers.  That’d be Misha’s handiwork, he guesses, groaning as Mr. Stark nuzzles his ear and starts to nibble.  “And then I will own exactly 100% of your shares and I will cut funding to the entire Young Geniuses program out of spite, Tony, out ofspiteandgrief.  Stop playing with him and get him dressed!”
Relationships: Original Male Characters/Original Male Characters, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Series: So Much Trouble [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1562707
Comments: 56
Kudos: 120





	Uh-oh

**Author's Note:**

> Because the previous story is just PWP chapters at this point, feel free to read this, it won't mess up your continuity too much. Pretty much a stand-alone within this series, not much in the way of character development for our main characters.
> 
> Beta'd by the vigorous and virtuous jf4m and mindwiped, THANK YOU FOR MAKING IT ALL BETTER. All remaining formatting or other errors are mine.
> 
> NOT ENDGAME COMPLIANT. (Let's be real here, this AU is barely MCU compliant.)
> 
> Dead Dove Warning finally! Finally! We're here! Starker D/s!
> 
> For prudes, these are fictional characters and I've double checked, no one actually has a skeevy real-life relationship or gets spanked by a hot Dom named Jack Taylor* as a result of this series, so, like, relax. No one is going to get hurt. They're not real.
> 
> Most of this came from a prompt in the comments by Anonymous (and emails with jf4m), THANK YOU, LOVELIES, but everyone who said they liked spankings ALSO made this happen, so good job, team! Keep throwing me plotbunnies! 
> 
> *... which is a damn shame, if you ask me.

“Tony, I swear to God, we will be _late_ , dress your toy already,” shouts Pepper from the hallway.

Mr. Stark shouts back, “No, we’re not going, I want him naked forever,” his fingers playfully stroking through the cum rapidly cooling on Peter’s stomach.

“I will kill you,” grates Pepper, poking her head through the doorway. Peter glances over, still shaking and gasping, and notices that her hair is in a complicated coif and her make-up is war paint designed to humble all viewers. That’d be Misha’s handiwork, he guesses, groaning as Mr. Stark nuzzles his ear and starts to nibble. “And then I will own exactly 100% of your shares and I will cut funding to the entire Young Geniuses program out of spite, Tony, out of _spite_ and _grief_. Stop playing with him and get him dressed!”

“That’s only true because you convinced me to structure my will so that Peter would get a trust instead of voting share stocks. I can change that,” Mr. Stark asserts, agile fingers tweaking Peter’s overstimulated nipples, the cool of the wetness making Peter pant to prevent the whine that wants to escape. “I can keep the geniuses in twinkies and ding dongs from the grave through him. Peter, avenge me.”

“M-Mr. Stark, you d-didn’t have to,” tries Peter, eyes fluttering shut.

“He did, though,” says Pepper smartly, “because I need you feeling guilty enough to be SI’s head of Research and Development forever if he’s not around, and I hope this conversation is killing the mood, because he needs to be dressed _now_ , Tony.”

“You can’t kill the mood,” Tony laughs, “that’s the best feature on this toy. Incredible refraction time and so _responsive_!” Peter grunts because he’s not _wrong_.

“I can kill you,” she hisses. “And _that_ will kill the mood. Peter, I know it’s not your fault, but I need you to focus on me. I will kill him if we are late, we are on the host team. Stop being sexy.”

“C-can’t turn it off like that,” Peter gasps. “D-don’t even know what- ahh, Mr. Stark, stop, not there- don’t even know what I’m _doing,_ he j-just attacked me out of nowhere.” Well, mostly, he thinks guiltily. He did smile at the man.

“You were too clean,” laughs Mr. Stark. “I had to dirty you up a little!”

“I was showering,” Peter protests, tossing his head and squirming. “You- you told me to shower!”

“I did,” agrees Mr. Stark. “And you always give me exactly what I want.” He dips his head for a long and lewd kiss, extra tongue, extra tongue fucking.

“I will dress him,” threatens Pepper, and they both startle apart to stare at her, mouths agape. “I will do it, so help me God, Tony, I will take away your tie tying thing you do. Dressed. In fifteen.” She glares at them with extra emphasis and retreats.

Tony is up and in motion before the door even closes completely. “Okay, Trouble, she’s serious, let me go grab a washcloth. Just, just stay there and stop being sexy, turn it down, just, like, three notches, she really will take this away from me.”

Peter says plaintively, “I’m not doing anything, though. I don’t, I don’t know how to turn it down.”

“Well, shit, we’d better work fast, then,” says Mr. Stark, returning with a damp washcloth and a twinkle in his eye. He wipes down Peter with efficient motions and then throws the washcloth at the wall. It hits with a wet splat - _gross,_ thinks Peter, but ultimately, it’s Mr. Stark’s wall, so Peter will just clean it up discreetly at some future point- and FRIDAY opens the laundry chute just in time to catch it. “Okay, up, Trouble, you’re so lazy, lounging around in bed at a time like this.”

Peter rolls his eyes as he sits up. “You _threw_ me in the bed. You didn’t even let me finish drying my _hair_.”

“That does sound like me,” agrees Mr. Stark, smirking. “Stop complaining, you got orgasms, I gave you orgasms, what more do you want?”

“Nothing,” Peter reassures him honestly. “But Pepper wants me dressed.”

Mr. Stark sighs, “Work, work, work, all I do with you two is work.” With a few quick twitches, his own tux is back to insanely picture perfect, and Peter licks his lips a little, because damn if that image, that fucking image, Mr. Stark fully dressed, Peter fully naked, doesn’t make his dick twitch _every time_. He’s such a fucking _weirdo_.

“Hey, I have your cum _in my butt_ , Mr. Stark,” Peter points out, grinning up at him. “There’s incontrovertible proof just now that you take some pleasure, too.”

Mr. Stark grins broadly at him and says, “One of these days I’m going fuck you and then plug you and take you to the longest Broadway show I can find, make you sit there all full up with me, all _mine,_ you know that, right?”

Peter blushes. It’s a heady image, it makes him a little dizzy.

“Agh, stop,” complains Mr. Stark, pulling out the tux and laying the pieces out on the couch in order of necessity. “Stop flirting, she’ll _tie your tie_ , Peter. Go, to the bathroom, go take care of it.”

Peter hops off the bed and pads to the bathroom, shaking his head. He cleans himself out as best he can, because leaking cum is not how he wants to spend the evening while dancing in fancy dress with ridiculously rich people. He’s back out after a quick toothbrushing, badly needed, and Mr. Stark is standing there, arms crossed, literally tapping his foot and scowling.

Peter stumbles over to stand in front of him, silent. Clearly Mr. Stark has chosen a different game to play now. He waits to find out which one.

“Finally,” growls Mr. Stark, and Peter knows _that_ tone and therefore _this_ game by heart now, so he lets himself feel a little ashamed and blush. “Going to be late, Trouble,” growls Mr. Stark, a twinkle in his eye just for Peter that says, _play with me, come play with me_. “Make us late, going to make us all late.”

“S-sorry, Mr. Stark,” stutters Peter. _Yes, of course, Tony._

“Yeah, you should be, slutting around here, making me late, making Pepper threaten to take things away from me,” grumbles Mr. Stark, holding out a pair of simple black briefs for Peter to step into and slapping his ass once they’re up. 

“Sorry,” whispers Peter, delighting in the feel of _being in trouble_ with Mr. Stark, remembering the feel of that night at the Accords, being so completely out of his depth, being _almost_ _late_.

“You have those cufflinks?” asks Mr. Stark gruffly, handing Peter the socks and holding up the pants, clearly waiting impatiently for Peter to balance on one foot and get the socks up. “The matching ones?”

Peter bites his lip and admits, “N-no, Mr. Stark, I don’t know where they are.” He can think of three other sets and name their exact location at the Compound but the matching set? No clue.

Mr. Stark grunts, “Fucking of course you don’t. We’re running late, you’re making us late, you and your slutty-” he pulls the pants up to Peter’s waist and slaps his ass again, hard, “neediness, fuck, you’re so much trouble. Riding herd on you is so much trouble, Peter Parker.”

Peter swallows and says, again, “Sorry, Mr. Stark.” He loves all the games they play but this one? This one is his guiltiest pleasure. He’s so messed up, so weird, this game they play is such _proof_ of that. But he’ll always play it. Always. 

“Here, can you figure out how to get the damn shirt on by yourself?” growls Mr. Stark, holding it out, his dark look doubtful in a way that slides down Peter’s spine.

“Y-yes, Mr. Stark,” mumbles Peter, sliding it around his shoulders and pushing his arms in the sleeves while Mr. Stark watches critically.

“Mm, sloppy, it should hang, here, let me-” Mr. Stark mutters to himself, twitching the shirt, slapping Peter’s hands away as they rise up to begin buttoning it. “No, you’ll just, how can you not see that that’s the wrong hole, it’s like three inches off, Trouble.”

“Sorry, Mr. Stark,“ Peter murmurs in his best take-me-to-bed voice, glancing up at the other man through his eyelashes. Mr. Stark flinches for a second and then winks at him. He taps Peter’s nose with a finger, and says mildly, “Bad toy, there’s not time to play that way.”

“Sorry,” Peter says, louder, letting some of the tension out of his frame.

“Such a slut,” Mr. Stark teases him, affectionately, fingers closing on the button above the necklace pendant. He gives the pendant a tap before moving up to the next button. “Keep the necklace here, not ready to put you in that choker and walk you around. We’ll talk about the rules on the way there, with Pep, so I don’t mess them up.” 

Peter breathes a sigh of relief, sliding the suspenders up and over his shoulders. He’s pretty good at figuring out who’s allowed in the inner circle, but it’s a short list, and he knows Angelica will be there, and she’s in that circle, somehow, and Kevin, and his rowdy bunch… he’s just a little relieved Mr. Stark is already thinking of providing him with a map.

“Were you worried,” murmurs Mr. Stark, glancing up into his eyes from the last button, tight to the base of Peter’s throat. His eyes are serious, a little concerned.

“Not really,” Peter reassures him. “I figured if you didn’t say anything, I would.”

“You don’t like not knowing,” Mr. Stark confirms, pressing his collar up.

It’s not a question, but Peter says, “I don’t want to get this wrong.”

“Perfect Peter Parker,” murmurs Mr. Stark, sliding the cummerbund around his waist, securing it, and holding out the jacket for Peter to slip his arms into it as he speaks. “Even if you do, even if it’s the worst, we’ll figure it out together. I’ve rebuilt my reputation three or four times now from complete and utter destruction, I can take the hits, and it’s not like you don’t know how to roll with the J. Jonah’s of the world. As long as I haven’t hurt you, I’ll be fine.” 

Mr. Stark turns away for a second, reaching for the tie. When he returns, his eyes are grave and serious on Peter’s face. He holds the tie in his hands as if he’s waiting for something from Peter.

Peter swallows. “Mr. Stark,” he says in a quiet voice.

“Yes, Peter?” asks Mr. Stark calmly, still waiting.

Peter feels heat rush through him, because the words are still true. For all he’s grown and changed in these few short months, it’s still true. “Mr. Stark, that’s a bow-tie,” he says, watching the electricity in Mr. Stark’s gaze snap and crackle as Peter says the words, tries to match the original cadence. “I don’t know how to tie a bow tie.”

Mr. Stark pauses, stretching the moment out, and then sighs, “Of course you don’t, you’re completely ridiculous, you can calculate the fluid viscosity of liquid vibranium to the ninth degree but tying a bow tie is too much to ask.” He shakes his head, meeting Peter’s eyes with a hard stare. “I’ll do it for you, Trouble. You stay where I put you.” 

Peter wasn’t planning to move, but he knows that command from the bedroom, and his skin shivers as Mr. Stark wraps the bow tie around his neck. His breathing is shallow, and his palms are sweaty, and it only gets worse as the fabric slides between Mr. Stark’s fingers and slowly forms into a bow.

“Mm,” hums Mr. Stark. “I like this part much better now.” He hooks two fingers under the tie fabric, which makes it too tight against Peter’s neck, and pulls Peter in for a kiss.

Peter hums his agreement into the kiss.

“Tony?” calls Pepper from the hallway. “FRIDAY says you’re kissing your toy and I swear to God-“

Mr. Stark slides his hand into Peter’s hair and pulls him back roughly, breaking the kiss. “He’s dressed, he’s _dressed._ Bring the cufflinks!” He shakes Peter a little, clearly enjoying that he _can_.

Peter is at the wrong angle, dangling by his hair in Mr. Stark’s grip, but he can hear Pepper approach even if he can’t see her by the sound of her dress, which has so many layers she sounds like a forest in the fall, leaves rustling in the breeze. 

“Oh,” she says. “He _does_ look as good as I remembered him looking in full formal. How the hell did you keep your hands off of him that whole night?”

“Vision and tequila,” sighs Mr. Stark, and Peter has a brief moment of being blindingly angry at Vision for cockblocking him before remembering that it has all turned out okay, anyway.

“Oh yes, I remember now. Not one of our Top Ten,” laughs Pepper. “God, you were thoroughly trashed and like a guilty, horny teenager.” She turns to Peter and lifts a small black box. “Angelica delivers. A set for you, to match the red and gold in Mr. Stark’s, and mine, the earrings, the cuffs.” She flicks her wrists at him to show off the cuffs and his mouth goes abruptly dry, remembering the rains in Wakanda. 

Mr. Stark chuckles, reaching for the first cufflink and letting go of Peter’s hair to twist one wrist up to place it. “Pepper, you’re evil, that’s a forbidden dance move.”

She snorts, “Which one of you is going to forbid me, again?”

Peter shakes his head, “Not me, Ms. Potts.” _Definitely_ not Peter.

Tony barks a laugh. “I couldn’t stop you from teasing him at the time, there’s no way I can get it done _now._ ” He shifts to do the second link. Peter glances at Mr. Stark’s cuffs while he works, enjoying the subtlety of the design. One big red square stone, surrounded by a thick yellow gold band, and two lesser red stones, one circular, one triangular, set along two of the adjacent sides, forming a kind of corner piece. Pepper’s earrings drip red triangles and squares from larger circular red posts, the cuffs flashing similar-sized circles, triangles, and squares in a repetitive pattern that completely encircles her wrists.

When Mr. Stark drops his wrist, Peter twists it to look at his own cufflinks. His has the triangle gem, inset so that it looks like it is surrounded by the red square, with a small circle snug beside it within the square.

It tells a story, their jewelry, a whole story about who they are, what they mean to each other, and Peter says in a daze, “How did she _know_ , though?”

“Angelica has known us for decades,” says Pepper smugly, clearly proud of the artist, “and she enjoys cultivating an appearance of not being as smart as she actually is. She only needs a few minutes of observation to color in the rest of the picture.”

Mr. Stark chuckles, adjusting Peter’s tie again with quick twitches before saying, “Usually she doesn’t play her hand so obviously but she must really approve of you. There’s nothing subtle about this set at all.”

Peter swallows. “I’m going to need that talk about the rules tonight. How many people will be able to read these?”

Pepper smiles and gestures for them to start walking. Peter slides into the shoes Mr. Stark set out for him, and is grateful for the way Mr. Stark holds out a demanding hand, because it means he can reach out and entwine their fingers and feel comforted as they walk to the elevator.

“Not rules, so much,” says Pepper as they walk. “More guidelines for the minefield.”

“Whatever,” Peter assures her. “The words don’t matter, the feelings do.” She smiles at him, clearly remembering their hot cocoa confessions, too.

“The people who will be able to correctly read the set aren’t anybody you need to worry about knowing about it,” Mr. Stark says confidently, giving his fingers a squeeze. “And that will be a small handful. Most of the people there will see Mr. Stark, Ms. Potts, and their charming ward/intern.”

Peter nods.

“So, no touching,” teases Pepper. Peter’s fingers go slack and Mr. Stark growls wordlessly and squeezes until Peter squeezes back. Oh, right, they’re _not_ _there_ _yet_. “Try to keep your staring at each other with bedroom eyes to a minimum.”

Peter sighs, but he was expecting that rule. They mostly stick to it in public, anyway.

“If someone approaches you fishing for more, high alert, the people who _can_ easily know _will_ know. If they think they know about the jewelry, proceed with caution. This set is from Angelica’s fall collection, you can tell them the earrings caught Pepper’s eye and when she found out there was a whole series she had to have it, and we’re wearing it because she’s very scary,” explains Mr. Stark with a mocking glance at Pepper, whose dress barely fits in the elevator with them. He flips their joined hands so the watch on Peter’s wrist is displayed. “This was a birthday present, from me to you.”

Peter nods. That’s what he’s been telling people, too. Aunt May had sniffed and said, “Couldn’t he get you a new one?” but even she hadn’t really _questioned_ it.

“People who can’t even read the jewelry are just fishing for scandal, Peter,” Pepper tells him lightly. “Mr. Stark has a horrible reputation. You’re not the first pretty young man he’s dragged around to these functions, but you are the first who is known in your own right. Lean hard on that. Talk about your R & D projects, about Spiderman, keep them off-balance with the idea that just this once, Mr. Stark is doing the right thing and not being an absolute monster.” 

Her tone is affectionate and teasing but Peter bristles slightly and retorts, “He’s not a monster, Ms. Potts.”

Tony brings their joined hands up to nibble on Peter’s fingers and chuckles, “Oh, I am. You can’t see it, Trouble, because you like monsters, but I’m the _worst_.”

“He really is,” Pepper sighs. “He’s old enough to be your grandfather, and that will make a bunch of idiots uncomfortable.” Mr. Stark makes a noise of wounded pain, but doesn’t interrupt her. “We know you know your own mind, Peter. We know _you_ kissed _him_. And some people will see that, and over time, people will stop even questioning why he drags you everywhere. But the best way to get there is to establish yourself as someone who knows his own mind. And the best way to do that is to be charming and smart and show them how multi-faceted you are, outside of your cute butt.”

Mr. Stark is still gnawing on his knuckles as the elevator door opens. He drops their hands and shifts to put Peter in front of him, hands on Peter’s shoulders, and then leans in. “Oooh, speaking of your cute butt, you walk first. We’ll follow.”

Peter glares at Mr. Stark over his shoulder, blush making the skin above his collar feel tight. Pepper wiggles her fingers at him in a _go-ahead-please_ gesture and he sighs.

“For the most part,” Mr. Stark continues, and Peter can hear by the change in Ms. Pott’s rustle that he’s escorting her arm-in-arm behind Peter now, “we have the money and power to absolutely crush any one of the people who will be there tonight, and that’s without the super suits we wear sometimes. You’re one of the most dangerous people in that ballroom, Peter. So don’t stress too much, and try to have a good time. Find one of us if someone clamps on and won’t let go and we’ll show you some tricks for swatting at the flies.” Ms. Potts makes a wordless sound of agreement that somehow still sounds bloodthirsty.

Peter nods. He can do that.

~~~

They’re queued up for the red carpet in the limo as another question occurs to Peter and he asks, “What about Kevin and the gang?”

“What about them?” responds Mr. Stark promptly, glaring at the assembled crowd of paparazzi. “Oh, fuck, _McKinley’s_ out there, Pep. I hate that asshole.”

“He always gets the most ridiculous photos of you making faces,” agrees Ms. Potts. “Try extra hard not to make any faces?” Mr. Stark makes a pained noise to that statement, grimacing.

“Well, like, do I ignore them or what?” asks Peter.

Both Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts turn to look at him, eyebrows raised.

“First off, good luck with that,” scoffs Mr. Stark, shaking his head. “Secondly, everyone here knows or can have easy access to the gossip that Kevin and I go back to my college days. Everyone knows that. My friendship with him was old news in the early 90s.” 

Pepper nods, “It is the most natural thing in the world for you to be friends with Kevin’s collection of just-past-jailbait. You’re all about the same age."

“So they’re safe,” Peter repeats, for clarity.

“Well, define safe, although Eddie better be on his best behavior,” teases Mr. Stark. “And if you’re not helping them behave, Kevin has the right to swat at you, too, Pep and I are going to be doing the rounds tonight, he’ll have to ride herd on the lot of you. Color?”

Peter thinks of Kevin, of how Kevin makes him feel, and says, slowly, “Y-eah, green, I guess. Just a swat, though. If I need the full treatment, I want _you_.”

“Agreed,” laughs Mr. Stark as the car pulls into position. They wait for Happy to round the vehicle and open the door.

“Oh, and stay away from Jack Taylor,” directs Pepper in tones of absolute authority. “He’s going to be on you like a shark on fresh meat, and while he’s one of the players who can read Angelica’s message, he’s _so_ _naughty_ , Peter. You stay away.”

“He’s not that bad, Pep,” says Mr. Stark, sounding a little offended on Jack’s behalf.

“You just think that because you’re usually being worse,” she tells him quellingly. “You’ve got your own toy now, you behave with other people’s.”

“If I act too reformed,” says Mr. Stark, handing her out of the car, and hauling himself out to stand beside her as the flashbulbs go crazy and the shouting starts, “they’ll never believe I’m not messing with Peter.”

“Behave, or I’ll get involved and they’ll think you’ve switched sides,” she threatens him, as Peter clambers out to stand behind them.

“Fine, we’ll go first,” sighs Mr. Stark, turning to give Peter a quick once over. “But I get to watch your butt as we walk out, then.”

Peter nods and squares his shoulders. “Yes, Mr. Stark.”

“Best. Toy. Ever,” Mr. Stark tells Pepper, and then they turn as a unit and start down the red carpet gauntlet.

~~~

They are some of the first people there, and Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts are quickly trapped greeting people and answering staff’s frantic last-minute questions. Most of their responses seem to direct people to the _actual coordinator_. Peter wanders over to their table for a few short minutes before he gets bored- there’s no one _there_ , and wanders back to the foyer where Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts are reigning supremely confident and suave. He slides in beside Mr. Stark and shift his weight, trying not to feel awkward and out of place.

“Angelica’s here,” Pepper murmurs to him while Mr. Stark greets Olivia Wilde. He nods, fidgeting, as Ms. Wilde coos about Pepper’s dress. Pepper admires the woman’s necklace and sends her off to the hall, where people are mingling around the tables. “I promise there will be dancing later,” Pepper tells him with a chuckle. 

“Just power through this boring stuff first. Oh, hello, Representative,” she greets the woman in front of her next. “We’re so pleased you could find time to stop by.”

“Is this Peter Parker?” asks the dark-haired woman with a smile. “America’s Sweetheart?”

“Yes,” gushes Pepper, pulling him forward. “You should meet him, he used to live in your district.”

“Once from Queens, always from Queens,” she assures him with a smile, pulling him in for a hug that makes bulbs flash down the hall. 

“I still patrol, ma’am,” he tells her seriously. 

“Then I won’t worry about anything but my Bronx,” she says lightly. “I know Spiderman’s got the rest of the 19th tied down tight.”

He smiles at her and she says, “Grab me for a dance, later, I saw that video of you and Ms. Romanov. Later, Peter!”

He smiles after her as she bustles energetically away. 

“Well, I like her,” says Mr. Stark. “Let’s donate to her.”

“We did,” Pepper assures him. “You support her clean energy policies.”

“I do,” agrees Mr. Stark. “They’re going to make me so much money.”

“Stop,” laughs Pepper. She straightens, suddenly, and puts her hand on Mr. Stark’s elbow, pushing Peter behind them a little. “Oh dear, here comes Jack.”

Mr. Stark looks over at her with twinkling eyes and says, for their ears only, “Ms. Potts, are you getting territorial on me?”

“Tony!” says the man, and Peter swallows. He is very, very handsome, with a deep voice just like velvet. He really can’t blame Dylan for grabbing the guy and dragging him into a bathroom. He has electric green eyes, and tawny gold hair. Peter literally lives with genetically engineered superheroes and he’s impressed. “And Ms. Potts, ma’am, how are you this evening?” He bows over her hand and she snatches it away seconds before he can press his lips to it. 

“Hello, Jack,” she says calmly, resting the hand on Mr. Stark’s elbow once again.

Mr. Stark says, “Taylor, so glad you could make it,” in his most ironic tone of voice.

“And little Peter Parker,” smirks Jack, glancing at him. His eyes sharpen for a second and Peter swallows because he’s got the same gaze Kevin and Mr. Stark and Natasha share, the one that cuts through Peter like a knife through butter. 

“Oh,” breathes Jack, his lips curving upwards. “Oh, that is not fair, Stark.”

“Mine,” says Mr. Stark quellingly, and Peter feels a blush creep up his neck.

“No,” says Jack, shocked, glancing at Mr. Stark’s face before returning his piercing gaze to Peter. “Please, no, you’ll ruin him.”

Peter shifts uncomfortably, but there’s no one nearby and no one approaching.

“Saw him first, snagged him first, mine,” asserts Mr. Stark casually as Ms. Potts huffs, “ _Gentlemen._ ”

“Sorry, Pep,” says Jack insincerely, and it sets Peter’s teeth on edge. Only _Tony_ gets to call her that. “Oh, and sorry Peter, too, I see that stubborn little tilt to your jaw. Don’t like me making light of his Ms. Potts, do you? I’ll mind my manners, little Peter Parker, I promise. I respect the hell out of her and all she’s done for the philanthropic community of New York by riding herd on this bag of bones here.”

Peter glowers at him, silently, but nods his head, accepting the apology. 

“Good boy,” says Jack, and the way he watches makes the words slide down Peter’s spine in a way not unlike Mr. Stark’s praise. “Oh, God, Tony, please please invite me over for dinner. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“Not good enough,” laughs Ms. Potts. “Jack Taylor, I’ve seen your best behavior and it’s awful. Go find your seat. I’m sure there’s a young man in need of some spoiling _somewhere else_.”

“Territorial,” Mr. Stark murmurs to Pepper in a teasing tone of voice, staring down Jack.

“Oh, very, and that’s _new_ ,” says Jack, dipping his torso in a slight bow to Ms. Potts. “Yes, ma’am, exactly as you say, I’m warned away. So nice to meet you, little Peter Parker,” he says to Peter. Peter shuffles his feet and nods, his gaze burning into Mr. Stark’s left ear in the hopes that the man does something to make this less awkward soon. 

Jack makes a little grunting noise and asks, “God, Tony. What if I promise to _actually_ _be_ _good_?”

“Not a chance, Taylor,” says Mr. Stark calmly. “Peter, Angelica is waving at you, go find out what she needs.” 

Peter ducks his head and slips behind Ms. Potts, and slides out in front of Jack Taylor feeling a little like a rabbit set loose before a greyhound. “Ack, that _tux_ , tell me it’s a Givenchy, where did you have it _tailored_ , though,” comments Jack as Ms. Potts repeats, “Go find your seat, Jack.”

Peter walks up to Angelica, whose face lights up with a smile. “Oh, good,” she greets him, “you _could_ make it. I watched Jack come say hi, isn’t he a dangerous dish? Pepper doesn’t like him, but he’s so naughty, it’s no surprise.”

Peter makes a face, “I don’t know if _I_ like him. He kept calling me little Peter Parker!”

“Ahh, that’s Jack,” laughs Angelica. “Although honestly, the last six months, he’s been so painfully good. I think he’s on the hunt for some hard-to-reach fruit.”

Peter bites his lip, because if she doesn’t know, he’s not going to tell her, and then thinks a little better of the man because he’s clearly trying, if even Angelica noticed.

“Oh, Kevin’s here,” says Angelica. “Here, my escort wandered off, take me over to him. I want to check in.”

“Peter,” greets Kevin warmly, pulling him in for a hug and kissing his cheek. “Tony said to check you over for shark bites, how was your first time being dipped in the water?”

“He called me little Peter Parker,” Peter tells him, still scandalized.

Kevin laughs. “Yes, that sounds like Taylor.”

“I am in the running for a Nobel peace prize next year and I went to Titan to save his ass,” Peter informs Kevin. “I can’t believe-”

“Language,” chides Kevin severely, and each of the men behind him winces.

Peter tells Kevin, “Sorry, sir,” because he suddenly remembers Mr. Stark saying Kevin would be riding herd on him that night. “Mr. Stark doesn’t mind.”

“Well I do,” Kevin tells him severely. “Tony also asked me to check in with you, he’s going to be awfully busy tonight. What’s your color on his idea?”

“Green,” Peter tells him, eyes wide.

“Peter,” interrupts Eddie, “come over here, we have to catch up. If you’re done with him, sir,” he says belatedly.

Kevin sighs. “I suppose I have what I need, yes. Let me go find where we’re seated tonight, you boys stay away from that wet bar, you hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” the five of them echo.

“Oh my God,” hisses Dylan to Peter, pulling him in close to their huddle. “Tell me everything. What did Jack say?”

Peter smiles and says, “You can have him, he called me little Peter Parker!”

Bryce and Eddie hoot with laughter, while Hunter says, “Yeah, that’s Jack. What do you _see_ in him, Dylan?”

Dylan blushes while Eddie elbows him and says, “I mean, that butt and those cheekbones, Hunter, are you going blind in your old age?” They all laugh at that, even Hunter. 

“Did he say anything else?” asks Dylan wistfully. 

“I have an idea,” announces Eddie. “I don’t even think we can get in trouble for it.”

The other men all hunch their shoulders a little and lean in. Peter has a single second where he wonders if this is the best plan, but he honestly can’t feel left out all night, so he leans in, too. 

“Peter, you said Mr. Stark could help Jack, maybe,” says Eddie. “So I say we get them some time together so they can talk about it. Let’s move Jack’s card to your table, Peter, right next to Mr. Stark.”

“Oh, good idea,” squeals Bryce. “No one will know if we do it now, c’mon, I know where it is, I saw it as we walked in.”

“But, we’ll have to move someone off of my table,” says Peter stupidly. “Who?”

“Let’s go look at names,” says Eddie. They wander over to the Stark table, near the dancing floor and the far wall. Bryce bounds up to them in moments, slightly out of breath. “Got it! Okay, so who are we taking out?” 

“Bloomberg, blech,” says Hunter. “He can go, and his wife, go take them back, Bryce, and grab another card so we can even things out.”

“Wait, no,” says Peter suddenly. “Grab Dylan’s card. He can sit by me, that’ll even out this table. Then take someone from Jack’s table over to yours for Dylan’s spot. Here, help me shift the names to make room.” When Bryce just stands there, gaping at him, Peter snaps, “Go, Bryce, we don’t have all night.” Hunter and Eddie start shifting the other name cards to make room while Peter switches himself from Mr. Stark’s left hand to Ms. Pott’s right hand and leaves a space for Dylan’s card.

Dylan whispers, “Oh my God, this is so perfect, I’ll have a chaperone, I’ll have _two_ _approved_ chaperones, and dinner will take an hour, and he can talk to Mr. Stark and I love you Peter, I love you.”

“It has to work, first,” says Hunter, but even he’s sounding pretty confident.

“I’ll tell Daddy you wanted someone to chat with, Peter, so Mr. Stark sat Dylan at your table to give you some company, since Dylan missed the dinner again this month,” says Eddie confidently. “He says we’re supposed to offer you support, he probably won’t question it, and even if he does, what’s he going to do? By the time everyone’s sitting down to dinner, it will be too late to shift seats again. Hunter, you go tell Bloomberg he’s been switched to table fifteen.” Hunter nods and wanders off. The room is rapidly filling with bodies. 

Peter thinks of several things that could happen but if Eddie isn’t thinking of them, he’s not, either. “Perfect,” he says, as Bryce comes up. “Absolutely perfect.”

“Someone has to tell Jack,” Eddie says slowly, followed by, “Not it.”

“Not it,” says Bryce quickly. Peter looks at Dylan, who raises his hands and says, “Well _I_ can’t do it, Peter.”

Peter sighs and says, “Oh, you are going to owe me, Dylan.”

Dylan nods eagerly and miserably at the same time. “Thank you, Peter, thank you so so much.”

Peter sighs again and looks through the crowd. Jack is standing, not far away, watching them, and Peter feels startled when he notices the man’s beautiful face is twisted in a frown in their direction. “What do I say to him?”

“Oh, just tell him Mr. Stark wanted a word, he won’t think that’s weird,” Eddie says easily.

“Oh,” says Peter. There’s nothing else to say, then, so he walks over. 

The closer he gets, the deeper Jack’s frown gets until Peter has to actively push himself under the weight of all that disapproval. “Yes, little Peter Parker?” asks Jack.

“Uh, Mr. Stark switched you to our table,” lies Peter. “He told me to tell you he wanted a word about something.”

“Did he?” asks Jack, his tone disapproving. There’s no way he could know Peter is lying, Peter reassures himself. Unless he’s been keeping tabs on Peter all night, and Peter is pretty sure he had better people to be keeping track of.

“Yes,” Peter tells him, nodding.

Jack’s face clears, relaxing a little. “Well, which one are you at?” Peter scans the crowd and says, “The one Dylan’s by right now.”

“Hm,” says Jack, and then, “Well, thank you for letting me know, Peter.”

Peter nods, grateful he doesn’t have to hear _little Peter Parker_ again, and turns to leave.

“Wait,” says Jack, and Peter hesitates, looking over at the man from the corner of his eye. “Do you know what Mr. Stark wanted to talk to me about?”

Peter shrugs, “Sorry, Mr. Taylor. He just said to let you know so you knew where to go.”

“Hm,” hums Jack, shifting his weight between the heels and balls of his feet. 

Peter scurries off before he can be asked anything else. He rejoins the group just as Hunter walks back over and says, “Guess what Ryan brought us?” The other boys all shift their feet and close ranks, so Peter figures whatever it is, they’re not supposed to have it. Hunter reaches into his pants pocket and produces four miniature flasks. “One for each of us, probably holds two shots. Now we just have to get to the bar.”

“Oh, but wait, Peter,” protests Bryce. 

“Nah, it’s okay,” Peter assures him. “Alcohol doesn’t really hit me like that.”

“Well, you can have mine,” says Dylan staunchly, pushing one at him. “You’re my personal hero tonight.”

Peter shifts uncomfortably but accepts the flask. “You know, I can get to the bar,” he says slowly. “I’ll just go get Mr. Stark and Pepper a drink. Nobody will think that’s weird.”

“You. Are. Brilliant,” declares Eddie, passing Peter his flask. “Tequila. Tequila for everyone.”

“Ew, no,” says Bryce, scrunching his nose. “Whisky.”

“Okay,” says Peter easily. “Three tequilas and a whisky.”

“You’re the best, Peter,” says Bryce enthusiastically, as Peter lopes away towards the bar.

“Hey, kid,” says Jack, stepping into his path just as he hits the edge of the waiting area. “What are you doing?”

Peter eyes him warily and says, “Getting drinks for Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts.”

“You running a lot of errands for them tonight?” says Jack, and Peter can tell he’s fishing for something.

Peter gestures to his watch. “Yeah, he just types them in and sends them.” _There_ , now even if Jack _was_ watching Peter, he won’t _know_ that anything’s up.

Jack nods and says, “Okay then, see you at dinner,” and turns his attention back to watching Dylan.

“Oh, Peter, there you are,” says Kevin, pulling him closer to the bar and farther from Jack. “I might have known Jack would be swooping in all over you. Have you seen the boys?”

“Yeah, they’re all over at the Stark table, I was showing them my watch,” Peter tells him. “Want me to go get them?” Anything to keep Kevin from that table, the shots can _wait_.

“No, no, they’re fine, I just didn’t see them, this is turning out to be such a crush, what a success for Tony and Pepper, another banner year!”

“Yeah,” says Peter with false enthusiasm. “I’m going to go get them some drinks, before dinner, if that’s okay?”

“Perfect, you really are so good for them,” Kevin assures him, and pats his shoulder as he releases Peter towards the bar. “Oh, Maxwell, I did want a chat, do you have a moment before dinner?”

Peter hauls up to the end of the bar and smiles at the bartender. He drops a twenty on the bar and the girl waves “one sec” at him. After she finishes making her current cocktail and thanks the patron for their own generous tip, she meanders down to him and says, “What’ll it be?”

“One dirty martini with a lemon twist for Mr. Stark, one champagne for Ms. Potts, and can you fill these?” He flashes the flasks at her. The bartender laughs and says, “Yeah, I got you. You and Mr. Stark, two apiece, huh? Well, he’s paying my check tonight. Here, hand them to me, _not across the bar_ , here, on the side. What do you want in ‘em.”

Peter tells her and she looks at him strangely while repeating the order, adding, “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Peter tells her.

“Your funeral,” she sighs, and scurries off to get it done. She passes him the flasks around the side of the bar again and he pockets them after confirming their contents, two to his left pocket, one to his right, his in his suit’s jacket pocket. He takes the two glasses and looks for Pepper in the crowd. 

He finds her easily, right where he left them at the entrance, and sighs. He makes his way through the room to their side, smiling at strangers and accepting compliments for the way he looks, for bravery, for snagging the internship at SI. 

“Hi, Peter,” says Pepper, a little surprised by his sudden appearance. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just thought you were doing thirsty work, might want to, you know?” He gestures with the glasses and her face breaks into a smile. “That’s so sweet,” she tells him, and he doesn’t look at Mr. Stark as he passes the man his glass because Mr. Stark has laser vision and will see that Peter’s feeling _guilty_. “Well, we’re almost done here, the dinner should be started in five, why don’t you go make your way over there?” As she speaks, the lights flicker once, and people begin to drift towards the tables. Peter nods, grateful to be gone, grateful he’s not going to be sitting next to Mr. Stark, where the man can easily lean over and interrogate him. 

“Oh,” he remembers, “there were some seat adjustments? I guess Dylan’s sitting with us now,” he says, trying for guileless. Mr. Stark’s head whips around at his tone so he probably messed that up. He ignores the man, intent on Pepper’s response. “Oh, that’ll be nice,” says Pepper, distracted by the next guest being passed to her from Mr. Stark and waving him off. He doesn’t run, but he doesn’t waste time getting away, either.

Dylan is sitting in his spot when Peter arrives, and looking slightly miserable about it. Peter passes Bryce his whisky and Eddie both of the tequilas, as according to Eddie, Hunter has apparently wandered off to distract Kevin until the last minute, when things can’t be switched and no one will want to make a big deal over _seating arrangements._ Dylan looks at the flasks longingly, but then says, “Well, I mean, if I end up with Jack, he’s pretty strict about that stuff, too, so it’s fine.”

Peter did not get the impression that Jack knew anything about rules or boundaries, but he shrugs. “Too late now, I already got my germs all over it, anyway,” he tells Dylan with a smirk. “I earned it, it’s mine.”

Dylan nods and smiles at Peter. “I have missed out on so much fun,” he tells Peter seriously. “I hope Tony can do something for Jack. He really isn’t all that bad, anymore. He’s really trying.”

Peter nods seriously and says, “Mr. Stark seems to like him, anyway. Pepper was being all dismissive about him earlier and Mr. Stark said she should give him a chance.”

Dylan brightens when he hears this news, and the lights dim again. People start taking their seats and the servers start bringing out food in a steady stream. Peter touches the flask in his pocket and decides, no, he’s not going to risk it. He can wait.

Jack comes over and sits down, staring at Dylan. “Does Kevin know you’re here?” he asks gruffly. Dylan nods and Peter interjects, “He’s here so I could have someone my own age to talk with. I haven’t gotten much time with Dylan in the last month.”

“I heard, one of Tony’s little pleasure cruises to the Bahamas?” says Jack, taking a sip of water and looking everywhere but Dylan, now.

“Something like that,” agrees Peter, carefully not thinking of the white suite, of the play room, of the sound of the surf and the feel of Mr. Stark _inside him_. Angelica and her escort slide into their seats, as well as a woman Peter does not recognize at all. Angelica introduces them with, “This is Mikayla, she’s with the charity foundation. My Michael, of course. Mikayla, Michael, meet Dylan and Peter. Jack, what are you doing here?”

“Tony wanted a word,” Jack tells her, eyes warm.

“Oh my,” she says. “Well, good luck. He’d be an excellent addition to your team, if you can pull it off.”

“That’s exactly why I’m here,” says Jack. “Help boost me a bit?”

“You got it, Jack,” she says, with relish, and then turns to Mikayla and says, “Do you know, I think you went to Brown with my Michael, isn’t it a funny small world? What was your favorite course?”

Mr. Stark walks behind Peter’s chair and leans in, his breath hot on Peter’s neck. “Hi, Trouble, what are you up to?” he murmurs in a sing-song tone.  
  
Peter stills and Dylan, who’s close enough to hear him, blanches. “N-nothing, Mr. Stark?” asks Peter, turning his head to glance up at the other man.

“What’s Jack doing here?” asks Mr. Stark in a sharp whisper, eyes boring holes through Peter’s.

“I think he wanted a word with you?” shrugs Peter, dropping his eyes before Mr. Stark can see anything there. 

“Mm,” says Mr. Stark, and Dylan’s hand creeps over under the table to touch Peter’s chair, whether in support or supplication, Peter has no idea. He’d bat at it, but not while Mr. Stark is looking at him like _this_.

The servers arrive moments before Pepper sails over and says, “Oh, Jack, what a surprise,” in a tone of mild annoyance. Mr. Stark straightens and hold out the chair for her. She seats herself and he tucks her into the table firmly.

“Just here to plead my case,” Jack tells her rakishly, but his eyes slide over to Dylan and he swallows, looking down at the plate the servers are sliding in front of him.

“I was hoping you two would get a minute to chat,” Angelica tells Tony with all the subtlety of a grenade. “He could use some advice.”

Mr. Stark snorts. “I bet. Bad reputation coming back to bite you, Jack?”

“You would know, Tony,” returns Jack, and Peter winces as Pepper picks up her fork and stabs a spear of asparagus. Michael and Mikayla are quietly discussing the Brown campus and their favorite spots around town, and Peter envies them.

“I would,” concedes Mr. Stark, adding some salt and pepper to his steak before cutting off a piece and chewing it.

Peter decides to dig in while he _can_ , and starts cutting and chewing and not looking at anyone or anything. Other than the occasional glance at Jack, Dylan quickly follows his example.

“So, advice,” says Mr. Stark, taking a long sip of his drink. “I hear from Angelica you’re straightening out your act. Well, mostly, there was that thing at the Met.”

“That was my fault,” interjects Dylan quickly. “That was me.”

“Mm,” hums Mr. Stark, taking another bite. “50/50, had to be both of you. So I wouldn’t do _that_ again.”

“I’m not an idiot, Stark,” mutters Jack. But then he adds, “Mostly,” in a chagrined tone, shooting Dylan a quick glance. 

“Go to the play parties,” Mr. Stark says, finally, and Peter feels faint because _it’s totally working, Mr. Stark is giving advice_. “Behave yourself. If he talks to you, talk back, honestly, he’s a stickler for honesty, but that also makes him a sucker for it, too. And concentrate on making sure Dylan makes better choices in the future. Focus on it. Like a hawk.”

Jack nods and blows out a breath, staring at his cup of water before lifting it for a sip. “I can do that. I do want that. For him.” He glances up at Dylan, and when he catches Dylan looking at him, wide-eyed, his gaze narrows a little in consideration. “They’re up to something.”

“Yeah, I know,” agrees Mr. Stark, and Peter feels a tingle across the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’ve been busy but I’m about to grab mine and see if I can shake it out of him.”

“Oh, Tony,” sighs Pepper, glancing across the room. “ _Dammit_ , look, she’s up, would you please go make her sit down.”

“On it,” sighs Mr. Stark, crossing behind Peter and hissing, “Behave” as he passes. The flask is heavy in Peter’s pocket as he ducks his head. He can feel Jack’s gaze on his face, but Pepper is scanning the crowd anxiously. Angelica has joined Michael and Mikayla in talking about Rhode Island, but she slots him a concerned look. He shakes his head at her, it’s _nothing_ , and keeps eating. Dylan is trembling with some emotion next to him, but he glances at Jack and keeps eating, too. 

“Oh, good,” breathes Pepper. “Good Tony, good work. Come back now.” She waits a moment and then applies herself to her own plate, cutting off pieces of steak and chewing them with an absolutely bloodthirsty expression on her face.

As Mr. Stark passes by Peter again, he runs a single finger across Peter’s neckline, right where the necklace sits. Peter shivers. He hasn’t done anything wrong, yet, but he can’t help but wonder if Mr. Stark will see it that way, when he gets to explain. Later. Much later, if Peter has anything to say about it. The flask is heavy in his pocket as he sighs.

The orchestra is tuning up before they’re all finished. Mr. Stark has to get up two more times and Pepper ends up leaving three. Each time Mr. Stark comes back, his expression for Peter is a little more dark, a little more stormy. The conversation about Rhode Island has overtaken the entire table and then morphed into a discussion of where Mikayla should look for apartments in the City. Mr. Stark swears violently and stands to go deal with another issue as the conductor approaches their table with a timid expression. Pepper turns to Peter and asks, “Would you mind being my first dance and helping me open the dancing?” Peter nods. Once he’s dancing, he’s _out of reach_ of Mr. Stark. He’s going to dance all night. Well, for awhile, anyway. Until Mr. Stark stops glaring at him.

He helps Pepper to stand, pulling out her chair and offering her his arm. The women at the next table over titter and Angelica leans back and says, “He’s like that all the time, isn’t it precious?”

Peter clenches his jaw as he leads her out to the dance floor, the conductor scurrying ahead. The room quietens for the first time all evening, as the lights dim and the music begins. He glides her smoothly into the uncomplicated waltz, and there are so many flashbulbs going off it could blind him, except he’s staring at her earring. 

“Peter,” she murmurs quietly after several pleasant minutes. “What in the world are you up to? You’ve got the world’s worst poker face and I had to keep sending Tony on errands through dinner just to give him something else to fret about.”

Peter smiles at her, a little sickly, and says, “Nothing bad, I think. Do you think their talk went well?” No need to say _whose_ talk.

“Oh, did you have a hand in that?” asks Pepper quietly. “That’s not going to thrill him, you know.”

Peter twitches. “But it went okay?”

“You heard it. I thought it was pretty good,” she says, but there’s doubt in her tone. “The advice is good, anyway,” she says more confidently. “It’s up to Jack to be worthy of it. Peter, what did you _do_ , though?”

He hums at her and smiles for a camera at the edge of the dance floor. Somewhere out there, Mr. Stark is watching them, he knows, because the whole room is watching them. He smiles at Pepper and says, “Nothing much. It’ll be fine.”

“Hm,” she hums, noncommittal, as the song ends and the dance floor fills with more couple. “Angelica will want a dance after this one,” she tells him, clearly letting the subject drop. 

_Excellent_. “Good, I’ll find her,” he says. Mr. Stark appears at his elbow and he stumbles back a step.

“Cutting in,” Mr. Stark announces, taking Pepper’s hand. “Sorry, work work work,” he tells her. “Didn’t mean to leave you hanging.”

She smiles up at him and commands, “Make it up to me, then.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he flirts back at her. Peter fades to the edge of the dance floor. As long as Mr. Stark is dancing, he is also safe. He steps back a few more paces, just in case.

“Peter Parker, what are you up to?” asks Jack, suddenly appearing at his left elbow, and Peter startles.

“Uh, nothing?” asks Peter. He’s literally not doing anything. Well, _hardly_ doing anything. The flask in his pocket feels heavier.

“Why don’t I believe you?” asks Jack, his green eyes flint hard. Peter swallows. 

“Uh, I don’t know? We just met, maybe you’re not, you know, maybe you don’t know you can trust me? Friendly neighborhood Spiderman?” tries Peter.

“Uh huh,” says Jack, leaning in a bit. “Tony thinks you’re up to something, too. All of you boys. You might as well confess to one of us, none of you can keep a poker face up.”

“N-nothing, Mr. Taylor,” swears Peter, heart hammering a little, sidling away. “I have to, uh, go, now.” He turns and walks in the direction of Kevin’s table. Kevin is gone but Eddie and Bryce and Hunter are still sitting there.

Eddie greets him with, “Daddy is not buying it. We’re cooked.”

Peter purses his lips. “Well, hell. Mr. Stark’s trying to track me down and figure it out, too. And _Jack_ just tried to rake me over the coals.”

“Let’s split,” says Bryce nervously. “There’s a coatroom, let’s go grab Dylan and go sit in there for a bit.”

“Okay, you guys grab Dylan, I gotta dance with Angelica, I promised,” Peter tells them. They all groan, “ _Pee-ter_.”

“No, a promise is a promise,” swears Peter. “This song is ending, anyway, I can grab her right now, maybe another ten minutes? Meet you by the entrance?”

The boys all nod, standing. “Ten minutes,” declares Eddie. “Go have fun dancing.”

Peter spots Angelica and begins making his way to that corner of the dance floor before anyone can intercept him. She nods at him as the music hits the coda, and tells Michael something that has the man nodding and leading her off the floor right directly toward Peter.

“Peter,” she cooes, when she’s close enough, and he grits his teeth. He takes a breath and asks, “May I have this dance?”

“Oh, yes,” she cries happily. “Michael, you do a turn with Mikayla, don’t be shy, darling, he’s very good, he’ll make you look good. Come on, Peter.” She reaches for his hands eagerly, and he folds her into the correct pattern of steps, eyes scanning the crowd. They pass by a dark-faced Kevin at one point and Peter flinches but keeps dancing.

“What are you up to, Peter?” sighs Angelica. 

“Nothing, we just switched some place cards around, _nothing_ ,” confesses Peter. Angelica seems pretty sympathetic to Jack, he muses. 

“Mm,” hums Angelica, the same hum nearly everyone has given Peter. “Well you look guilty. Guiltier than a simple _nothing.”_

Peter shrugs his shoulders and says, “Well, that’s all.” The flask taps against his chest as he twirls her to make her giggle. 

“Hmm,” says Angelica. “And would this have anything to do with Jack Taylor and Dylan Martinelli being at the Stark table, instead of the Bloombergs I was promised?” she asks sweetly. “Are those the place cards you were talking about?”

“Maybe,” admits Peter, wishing that Natasha had been right that if you’re dancing, no one expects you to _talk_. 

“He’s not going to like that,” observes Angelica after a couple more minutes. No need to figure out which _he_ she’s referring to, there’s only one _he_ that matters to Peter. “They’re all three of them not going to like that.”

Peter shakes his head a little. He doesn’t care. Jack needed advice. Dylan was missing Jack. Two birds, one stone, super efficient. _The crowd goes wild._

“Mm,” hums Angelica again. “Well, you can drop me off here, I can see the rest of them are waiting for you by the entrance. I hope you know what you’re doing, Peter.”

“I do,” he assures her, and she lifts an eyebrow back at him. “Hm,” she says, again.

“God, Peter,” hisses Bryce as he gets close enough, “that took forever, it was _12 minutes_.”

“I don’t control the music,” Peter spits back. “Okay, let’s go. Wait, where’s Dylan?”

“He wandered off, we told him, but couldn’t find him when it was time to walk over,” says Eddie in frustration.

“Oh, great,” groans Peter. “Well, let’s go. He can catch up. Or not. Maybe he doesn’t want to sit there while we drink and feel left out.” Peter wouldn’t. Peter would _hate_ to feel left out.

They sneak into the coat room with the coat check boy’s blessing, after promising not to mess with the coats and showing him the flasks. He smiles, and nods, and takes a sip from Bryce’s when offered. “I got it,” he tells them confidently.

They’re sitting around sipping, ruminating about what their next steps for _staying out of everybody’s way_ should be, when the door flies open and the coat check boy stutters, “Mr- Mr. Stark.”

Peter freezes, the flask half-way up to his mouth. Kevin _and_ Mr. Stark _and_ Jack burst in. _Uh-oh_ , thinks Peter. Jack is holding onto Dylan’s arm and Dylan looks absolutely shattered. “Fuck,” Peter says, stupidly.

“Yeah, _fuck_ ,” agrees Mr. Stark, his face boiling with anger. “Care to explain?” he waves an arm at the assembled coat room crew.

“Well, no,” admits Peter, lowering the flask. “No, sir,” he adds. _Uh-oh_ , he thinks in his head, because this is _bad_. He glares over at Dylan, who, okay, that’s Jack, he’s already admitted to not being very strong where the man is concerned, but still, _traitor_.

“Is this tequila, Edward?” asks Kevin in a scathing tone, after taking the flask from the boy and sniffing. “Where in the world, did you bring it _in_ with you?”

Eddie shakes his head and slants Peter a glance, lips tightening.

“I’ve only seen one of the boys at the bar tonight,” comments Jack slowly. All of the boys shift their weight. Bryce and Hunter cap their flasks and hold them out silently to Kevin, who takes them and hisses, “Whisky, too? What were you _thinking_?” None of the boys answer him as he tightens the lids and slips the flasks into his pockets.

Peter can see the wheels turning in Mr. Stark’s head as he adds up Peter’s earlier surprise drink delivery. “Oh that better not be what happened there,” he tells Peter. Peter winces. “Oh, that had better not be how this went down,” Mr. Stark repeats himself. 

There’s a long pause. Peter’s not looking up, he decides, not even if he’s told to. Mr. Stark makes an exasperated spluttering noise and then he declares, “We’re going to go find a room with some chairs or benches, right now. Up.” All four boys on the floor jump while seated and then stand up quickly, milling around. “You,” he addresses the coat check kid. “Private room, chairs, where can I find one?”

“The library?” offers the kid. “I mean, down the stairs, the right hallway, way in the back, you can, uh, lock the door from the inside?”

“Thanks,” growls Jack, shoving Dylan out the door in front of him. 

“Let’s go, Trouble,” growls Mr. Stark, grabbing Peter’s arm, too.

“Now,” says Kevin, snapping his fingers.

They’re all manhandled down the stairs and through the right hallway. They pass a bunch of doors with glass windows and Peter kind of prays the library has glass windows, too, but there’s no such luck. It has a very heavy set of doors that swing easily open. Jack flicks the lights on to reveal a full selection of seating furniture scattered around the room. Peter swallows. Mr. Stark wouldn’t… he wouldn’t… 

“Go,” growls Mr. Stark, pushing on his shoulderblades. Peter realizes, _he totally would_. This is going to happen. “Shit,” he mumbles.

“And that’s enough language,” Kevin declares, brushing past them with Hunter and Bryce caught in his grip “Next one of you lot to swear will taste soap, do I make myself clear?”

“Soap?” asks Peter timidly, because soap doesn’t apply to him, right?

“Soap,” confirms Mr. Stark, shutting the door behind Eddie with a click and flipping the lock. Peter and Eddie wince in unison. “Play childish games,” Mr. Stark continues, “win childish prizes.” Peter flushes and hunches his shoulders. “Mr. Stark,” he says, trying to sound reasonable, but then he closes his lips tightly because it came out _whiny_.

“Don’t you even start with me,” Mr. Stark tells him. “Go sit. Right there. Green couch.”

“You, too, boys,” snaps Kevin. “This is a _charity function._ I’m going to-” he looks at the other men still standing, Jack with his arm wrapped around Dylan’s bicep still, and says, “ _we’re_ going to sort this out as fast as we can, but there will be additional consequences, do you hear me? I know I didn’t stutter any of the last few times I said _no drinking in public.”_

“We weren’t in public,” mutters Hunter.

“We were in a coat closet,” agrees Bryce quietly, his toe kicking at the carpet.

All three older men make scoffing noises of disbelief and all five younger men wince.

“All right, Dylan,” drawls Jack, shaking him a little. Peter’s heart leaps into his throat. Jack does not sound happy, poor Dylan, how miserable. Everything’s flipping upside down right now, from how it was supposed to go. He blames Mr. Stark. Why can’t the man just follow a _script_? “Are you going to be good for me and tell them what you told me, or will I have to?”

All four men on the couch wince and glance over at Dylan, who stares back at them open mouthed. Hunter nods at him- _oh, go on, go ahead, we’re already in hot water_ , reads Peter _-_ and he takes a deep breath to say, “We switched the name plates at the tables, Daddy, Mr. Stark. I mean, I didn’t, I didn’t physically switch them, but I wanted them switched and I knew they were doing it and I didn’t stop them.”

“Which they?” snaps Mr. Stark. Dylan looks at the four on the couch and presses his lips together. 

Jack says, “Yeah, I couldn’t get that out of him earlier, either. Came for you as soon as I realized we might have a conspiracy on our hands, here. Wasn’t expecting the scene we walked in on, though,” he adds, shaking his head at the four on the couch. Peter can feel the twitch pass through all four of them. Yeah, that had been fun and rebellious and now was feeling not quite worth it.

“Neither was I,” murmurs Kevin. Hunter, Dylan, and Bryce all wince. Eddie is rubbing his neck and staring up at Mr. Stark from under his thick lashes.

“So, other than breaking all of Kevin’s rules for Dylan,” grates Mr. Stark, recapturing Peter’s attention. “Was there a goal to the name card swapping?” He sounds like he already knows, so Peter shrugs his shoulders. Beside him, Eddie shifts. “Eddie?” asks Mr. Stark. “Gonna be a good boy and tell us?”

Eddie flinches, looking up at Mr. Stark for a long moment before saying, “I- I wanted Jack to talk to you.” Hunter breathes out a breath of air and Bryce shakes his head.

“And you didn’t think you could just ask,” states Mr. Stark, shaking his head. “We just _had_ that little chat not that long ago, Eddie.”

Eddie flushes and his breathing goes ragged. Peter bumps his shoulder up next to Eddie’s in support. Eddie shakes his head. “No, sir,’ he says miserably. “I didn’t, I didn’t think to just ask.”

“Mm,” hums Mr. Stark. 

Kevin sighs in exasperation. “And why did you want Jack to talk to Tony?”

Eddie bites his lip and slants Peter a look. Peter presses his lips together and looks over at Dylan. Dylan shakes his head. _Okay, then._ Peter sets his jaw and glares at the carpet. He can hear Kevin and Mr. Stark sigh over his head but dammit, he didn’t sign a contract that included violating his fifth amendment rights, _okay_?

“So, new topic,” drawls Jack, “because I’m interested in these flasks.” The four boys on the couch flinch as one.

“Daddy-” starts Bryce in an uncertain tone.

“Oh, don’t you start with that,” scolds Kevin. “I can smell the whisky on you, what in the world were you thinking?”

“But everyone is-” protests Bryce, “and we’re the only ones _not allowed.”_

“Peter’s not allowed,” Mr. Stark puts in. Bryce hunches his shoulders, deflating like a squashed bug. “And Michael. Lots of people here are not drinking anything at all, for lots of reasons, including that this is a _charity benefit_ with _lots of paparazzi floating around_. Not your greatest defense.”

Peter swallows. This one’s on him, he knows it. The boys might have tried to get those flasks filled, but _he_ was the one who actually offered and got them filled. And he got it done because he’s Mr. Stark’s intern and the bartender knew it.

“It was all me,” says Eddie suddenly. “Everything, tonight, it was all me. They were all just doing what I told- _asked_ \- them to do.”

Peter shakes his head and then flinches as Mr. Stark crouches and leans into Eddie’s space, pushing the other man’s hair back from his forehead. “That’s noble, but stupid,” he tells Eddie, and as much as his voice is stern, there’s exasperated affection in it, too. “We’re not believing it, anyway. Zero chance.” Eddie flinches, his face red. Peter can feel the tension in his body, and he’s not surprised, when he glances over, to see Eddie’s lip between his teeth and his eyes shiny. 

Mr. Stark turns to glare at Peter, and he shrinks back a little. “Only one of you went to the bar, care to tell me more about that, Peter?”

“No, please, sir,” says Peter, because it’s worth a shot. Mr. Stark growls at him and he flinches again. 

“If I have to engage the short cut to your very smart genius brain, I will,” warns Mr. Stark. Peter, he’s kind of already figured that out, they’re in this room because it’s _private_ and _has chairs_ , but it still makes him flinch and hunch his shoulders. “Color?"

Peter breathes very quickly and thinks about his feelings. He doesn’t feel _unsafe_ right now. He doesn’t like feeling _in trouble_ and _stupid_ , but he doesn’t, everybody here is a friend. Well, maybe not Jack. But Jack also, he’s Dylan’s guy, and Peter trusts Dylan. “G-green,” he stutters, and then slants a defiant glance over at Mr. Stark, heart hammering in his chest.

“Mm,” hums Mr. Stark.

“And I’m already planning to tan each and every one of you,” Kevin puts in, before turning to glare at Dylan and saying, “I think especially you, young man, I have _rules_ for a _reason_.”

Dylan nods miserably, eyes filling with tears.

“He didn’t do anything,” protests Eddie, his voice thick. “We switched the cards, and he gave Peter his flask and he _didn’t_ do _anything_. Jack, I promise, he wasn’t a part of this _at all_.”

“Except for the part where he was sitting at the Stark table instead of at Kevin’s table where he belonged,” Jack cuts in, shaking Dylan’s arm on the last three words. Dylan gasps, clearly about to lose it. “I may not like being told I have to wait, Dylan, but I’m doing my best to respect Kevin’s authority in this situation, and I’ve had about enough of you trying to get around us. Not a good choice, little boy.” Peter winces as Dylan’s tears spill over and he whimpers, “S-sorry, Jack, s-sorry D-daddy. J-just wanted to sit by him.”

“He didn’t even ask to,” mutters Peter, because they’re _ganging_ _up_ on Dylan. “I was the one that said we should switch his nameplate.” 

“ _Did_ you, Trouble?” asks Mr. Stark in a cutting tone, leaning in. “That’s so interesting. Why would you do that?”

Peter flinches and tries to tighten his lips, but Bryce cuts in with, “I moved the Bloombergs together so we had to move _someone_!”

“You did what?” asks Kevin mildly. Bryce and Peter flinch. 

“I… to make room for Jack,” says Bryce, voice trailing off. Dylan flinches.

“Yeah, we’ve established that,” drawls Jack. “ _I_ got told by yours that you made the change, Tony. Which is absurd, you actively _avoid_ me.”

“Lying, Peter?” murmurs Mr. Stark. “When you were so careful with me to _not lie at all._ ‘There were some seat adjustments,’ no reference to who did the adjusting. Pretty sneaky. I’m almost proud.” Peter can feel his eyes fill with tears at being _caught out_ like this.

“Peter said you would _help_ ,” Dylan tells Mr. Stark miserably. “He said-” Hunter and Eddie hiss at him, shaking their heads furiously. “He said you could help J-Jack.” His voice collapses under the combined weight of disapproval from the rest of the room, even if everyone is disapproving for very different reasons.

Jack shakes Dylan’s arm and says, “I don’t think, if you’d thought it through, you’d want this kind of help, Dylan.” Peter flinches, and Mr. Stark nods once at him and once at Eddie, who is shivering, now.

“No one needs this kind of help,” announces Kevin in a dark tone. “This is not help, this is a three-part dramafest. Who brought the flasks?”

The boys on the couch flinch and Hunter glances up at Kevin before muttering, “Ryan.”

“Oh Lord,” says Jack at the same time Mr. Stark rolls his eyes and snorts.

“That boy,” hisses Kevin. “Well, I’ll talk to his Domme when we’re done here. What in the world convinced you to _take them_ from him?”

“He said we wouldn’t!” says Bryce, flashing up with anger. “He said we’re just a bunch of whipped pussies and-” Hunter elbows him hard and he flushes, lips tightening.

“And then _you_ filled them,” says Mr. Stark with finality, to Peter. “Tell me again, how did you manage that? You’re _eighteen_ , and I think I’ve made myself pretty clear about this one. Made a lot of promises to a lot of people that we wouldn’t be having a Tony Stark public intoxication phase.”

Peter shakes his head, throat closing. “The short cut is dangerously close,” Mr. Stark warns him. Peter gasps, trying not to let the tears that keep rising escape, and flushes.

“Last chance, Trouble, you can cooperate without it or we can do it the hard way,” warns Mr. Stark. Peter shakes his head and Eddie says, voice sliding upwards in desperate emotion, “It was all me, anyway, I promise, Daddy, it was my idea.”

“The flasks or the forcing Jack into a situation he didn’t consent to?” asks Mr. Stark mildly. Eddie gasps like Mr. Stark slapped him and Peter takes a moment to reach over and touch the man’s hand, let him know _he_ _totally gets it, it’s okay, Mr. Stark’s laser brain is the_ ** _worst_**.

“I definitely did not consent,” reinforces Jack brutally. Eddie bites his lip again, and Dylan sniffles. 

There’s silence and Peter can feel the brains of the other three men in silent conversation above the bent heads of the four on the couch Eventually, Jack nods and says, “I want all of you to be _good boys_ ,”- and all five of them flinch, it’s _Pavlovian_ , Peter thinks mutinously, “I would never _consent_ to anything that made you unsafe or broke rules. I’m trying to be very good, here, and learn a new way to operate, and you’re none of you making it easy for me.”

Dylan loses his control over his tears, but he’s being so quiet that Peter doesn’t even know if Jack realizes Dylan’s crying. Jack continues, “If Tony wanted to talk to me, he’d invite me over. I asked him, we were already moving in that direction, we didn’t need such a sloppy and ill-timed push from you.”

Mr. Stark lifts Peter’s chin and repeats, “Sloppy. Very sloppy. And _lying_. And _sneaking._ ” Peter’s eyes fill with tears again and he cannot meet that gaze, it will destroy him.

“Well, okay, I think we have enough information to get started,” says Kevin. “Tony, if you wouldn’t mind taking care of Eddie, it seems he needs a firm reminder of your last discussion?”

Mr. Stark nods, asking, “Eddie? Color?”

“G-green,” sighs Eddie, sniffling.

“And Jack, care to explain to Dylan about your boundaries, moving forward, and how you expect him to keep to them?” Kevin asks the other man. Jack’s eyebrows fly up, and he grips Dylan’s arm a little tighter. “Yes, sir,” says Jack, and Dylan sobs very quietly, more of a gasp, as Jack pushes him toward a chair along the left side of the room. 

“And I’ll take care of you two,” says Kevin firmly, holding out his hands to Hunter and Bryce. “We _do not_ work together to make other people uncomfortable. And we _absolutely_ do not give in to people who are trying to make us do _illegal_ _things_ just because they throw around a few silly names.”

Mr. Stark sits down where Hunter and Bryce have recently vacated the left side of the couch and says, “Okay, Trouble, you asking for first shot?”

Peter says, thickly, “I’m not asking _at all_. Sir.”

Mr. Stark looks over Eddie’s head at Peter and lifts an eyebrow. “We’ll see,” he tells Peter.

“How about you, you feel bad enough to need a spanking?” he asks Eddie. Eddie gasps out a sob and then nods, shamefaced, avoiding glancing in Peter’s direction.

“Good boy, you _should_ , I can’t believe we have to have this little chat again, so _soon_ , Eddie. Stand up, take off your jacket.” There’s sounds all around the room of clothing being discarded, shifted, small sniffles and, from Bryce, quiet protestations of innocence. Peter glares at the carpet and doesn’t look anywhere, but especially doesn’t look at Mr. Stark and Eddie as Mr. Stark helps him unhook his cummerbund and slides his pants down, tipping Eddie over his knee. Mr. Stark is right handed, Peter knows, so at least he won’t, like, get side-butt in his peripheral, but it’s not like watching Eddie’s face is going to be _fun_. “Why are we here, Eddie?” asks Mr. Stark calmly, like this is not completely nuts, Eddie is an _adult_ , for god’s sake, thinks Peter.

“I asked you for it,” says Eddie, voice thick but muffled as he lays it on his arm on the couch beside Mr. Stark’s hip.

“That’s exactly right, and when you ask for things, I’ll give them to you, if I can, I _like_ you, Eddie. Why did you ask?” Peter bites his lip because Eddie _didn’t_ ask, but he’s not interrupting them, there’s no way, this is all _crazy_ and Peter should _leave_. There’s the sharp sound of smacks from the two other corners of the room and Peter flinches, but he still isn’t moving. He can tell Eddie is crying already by the way he says, “Because I needed it.”

“Good boy, I can tell, you do need one,” soothes Mr. Stark, rubbing a hand through Eddie’s hair. “All that guilt, don’t want it to eat you up. Want to tell me why you’re feeling guilty?”

Eddie nods and gasps, “I did it again, Mr. Stark, I, I didn’t just _talk,_ I- I made Jack _sit_ , I didn’t just _ask_.”

“Nobody makes Jack Taylor do anything,” Mr. Stark says firmly.

“That’s right,” calls Jack, not even sounding out of breath and Dylan is _sobbing_ , what the _hell_. Eddie gasps again, falling into tears.

“So what you did was?” asks Mr. Stark, very firmly.

“I didn’t give him a safeword,” responds Eddie on a sob.

“Close enough,” agrees Mr. Stark, and then he raises his hand and starts smacking Eddie’s upturned butt.

Peter’s never seen a spanking before, and he definitely is not _watching_ this one, but it’s happening about a foot from him, so it’s hard not to, like, _see_ it. Some of it. It’s awful. Eddie doesn’t even _deserve_ it, he didn’t- he didn’t- he just suggested an idea, _Peter’s_ the one who planned it all, no one was even thinking of breaking Kevin’s rule about Dylan until _Peter_ made them do it. _Peter’s_ the one who filled the flasks. Peter can feel his eyes filling up with tears and he sniffs them back. He’s so _stupid_ sometimes, and now everyone- he can hear the smacks all around the room, the quiet cries- everyone is in trouble, and they’re all being embarrassed, and it’s _all Peter’s fault._

Eddie is honestly sobbing by the time Mr. Stark slows a little and asks, “So, Eddie, what are we going to do differently next time?”

“I’ll ask,” sobs Eddie, scrubbing his face on his arm. “I’ll ask you, I’ll trust you, I promise. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, I wasn’t _thinking_.”

“Yeah, that happens to the best of us,” says Mr. Stark wryly, rubbing Eddie’s back now. Peter can’t just _sit here_ , so he tentatively reaches out a hand and starts gently carding it through Eddie’s dark curls, willing the other man to _calm down_ , because it’s over, now. Mr. Stark smiles at him a little and Peter flinches because this is _all Peter’s fault._ “And what do we do if someone hands us a flask?” he checks in with Eddie, as if reminded that there was more than one infraction tonight by Bryce’s not-so-quiet cries in the corner of “Daddy, please, I won’t ever, I promise!”

“We tell them to fuck right off,” laughs Eddie into his crossed arms. “We tell them to go to hell.”

“Language,” says Mr. Stark mildly, and smacks Eddie in a flurry of little blows, making him moan and twitch, but his tone is approving and playful as he continues, “You’re lucky Kevin’s busy with the other naughty boys, but I’ll soap you, too, try me.”

Eddie shakes his head and gasps against his sobs to spit out, “Sorry, sir, sorry, Mr. Stark, sir.”

“That’s okay, it was an honest response,” teases Mr. Stark. “Well, I think you’re done, you seem to have figured out where you went wrong, you have a good plan for next time.” He punctuates this with two blows on the last two words and Peter flinches. “Up you get,” he says, and he sounds almost _cheerful_ , Peter thinks with disgust. He lifts Eddie up and helps the man straighten his clothes, sliding the cummerbund around his waist and telling him, “You can leave the jacket for now.” 

Eddie nods, miserably, and then looks around, wiping his face with his hands. “Oh, no, you’re staying with me,” Mr. Stark tells him, and then tells Peter, “Come here, Trouble,” and snaps his fingers, pointing at the floor between his feet. “Go sit, Eddie,” he directs, as Peter reluctantly slides to his knees in front of Mr. Stark. Eddie steps over Peter’s legs and gently touches Peter’s shoulder as he passes him, still gasping and sniffling a little, hands scrubbing his face. He collapses into the same spot Peter has just vacated with a gasp and a wiggle of discomfort.

Mr. Stark slides his hands to cup Peter’s chin, so gently, and Peter shakes his head, biting his lip, his eyes closing. He can still hear the thumps and whacks and slaps, the soft cries and the sniffles and the scolding from Jack and Kevin. He closes his eyes and tries to shut them all out. 

“Okay, Trouble,” says Mr. Stark, and his voice is so kind tears spring to Peter’s eyes again. “I can see you chewing on yourself, now. Gonna ask me for help?”

Peter gasps, and lets his weight sag so that Mr. Stark’s hands are holding him up.

“Mm, we can wait, Peter. If it bothers you, we can wait and fix it later, but then you’ve got to be good and not stew about it for the rest of the night. I can even send you out to the limo, you can wait with Happy if you can’t go back out there and dance like nothing’s happened.” Peter’s eyes fly open and he looks up at Mr. Stark, lips parted. “It’s always your choice, Peter,” Mr. Stark reminds him. “I think you need one, I think you’ll feel better. But it’s always your choice.”

Peter gasps, and then thinks about being the only one here, who did all the stuff, it’s all his _fault_ , and sneaking off without _consequences_. It feels as bad as this feels, it feels _worse._

“I need words, Peter,” reminds Mr. Stark, and he doesn’t sound impatient at all. Everyone else is almost _done_ , why is Peter _stalling_ , he’s the worst, the absolute _worst_ friend ever, and now everyone will be done and just, like, _watching_.

“P-please, Mr. Stark,” he gasps, and then stops, because there has to be other words. There _has to be_.

“Please what, Mr. Parker?” asks Mr. Stark sternly, and then he mutters, “Should keep a pair of scrubs in the damn _limo_ ,” which makes _no sense_. 

Peter gasps, “Can-I-have-a-spanking-please,” so quickly that he’s praying Mr. Stark accepts it and doesn’t make him repeat it. He winces, waiting for the verdict.

“Good boy,” Mr. Stark praises him, and he melts forward into Mr. Stark’s hands. Mr. Stark helps Peter off with his jacket, folds it and lays it directly on top of Eddie’s, and Peter scrunches his eyes closed on _that_ image. There’s a little of his usual tease in his voice as he guides Peter’s chin up, directing, “Okay, up, Mr. Parker, time to get what you desperately have been asking for _all night_.”

Peter mumbles wordlessly at this statement, but stands, carefully keeping his eyes closed so he doesn’t look around the room. He can hear everything, with his eyes closed, _man_ , can he hear _everything_ , but he’s _not looking_. Mr. Stark quickly strips off his cummerbund and twists down his suspenders, unlatching the fastener on his pants and unzipping them just as efficiently. Peter puts one hand on Mr. Stark’s shoulder to steady himself as Mr. Stark roughly tugs down his pants and boxers, and then Mr. Stark is tipping him over his knee. The position is horribly familiar, but it’s not the same one Eddie was in. He can’t rest his head on the couch cushion _at all_ , and he’s up on his tiptoes, where Eddie was kind of laying- Mr. Stark’s hand settles on his butt and Peter thinks, _eep._ \- all other thoughts going silent. 

“Why are we here, Mr. Parker?” he asks, and Peter sighs, “Because I asked, Mr. Stark,” but instead of sighing it, something gets caught in his throat and it comes out like a sob.

“Good boy,” praises Mr. Stark, tapping his hand once, gently, making Peter squirm. Dylan is straight up sobbing and pleading with Jack to stop, and Kevin must have moved on to Hunter, who is grunting with every loud _smack_ that echoes through the room opposite Jack’s blows.

Mr. Stark recaptures his attention by smacking him lightly. “And why did you ask me?” he says.

“I feel so bad, Mr. Stark,” gasps Peter. “I, I was trying to help and it all got messed up.”

“Mm,” says Mr. Stark neutrally. “And what _should-_ ” he lands a heavy blow and Peter jumps wildly “-you do when things get all messed up? Preferentially _before_ you’re drinking on the floor of a coat closet with a bunch of underage reprobates, Mr. Parker?”

“G-get you, talk to you, tell you,” whimpers Peter. He _knows_ that. He _does_.

“I _needed_ to chat with the Bloombergs tonight, Mr. Parker,” Mr. Stark informs him, landing two relatively gentle smacks. Peter shakes his head in apology. “S-sorry, Mr. Stark.”

“You will be, now we’ll have to go out to dinner with them, and they’re _awful_ , Mr. Parker, and you’ll have to be on your _best behavior_ because they _do not know about your shortcut._ ” He punctuates every emphasized word with a heavy thudding blow, one for each syllable, and Peter is jumping for each one, gasping.

“S-sorry, Mr. Stark, I w-will be good,” Peter promises.

“Yeah, I’m not worried, I can handle you,” Mr. Stark tells him. His hand starts flying, landing heavy thudding blows that have Peter gasping and squirming all over his lap, toes seeking purchase in the carpet, fingertips clutching at the floor for balance. It goes on and on, until Peter is crying out with each one, and then it slows down and Mr. Stark says conversationally, “Do I have your entire attention now, Mr. Parker?”

“Y-yes,” sobs Peter, gasping for breath. The thuds have turned into swats, and they’ve slowed, but they’re still _a lot_ right now, his butt is actively processing burn and pain at peak capacity right now.

“Yes, _what,_ Mr. Parker?” growls Mr. Stark, landing a couple of heavy swats before Peter can correct himself.

“Yess, sir,” hisses Peter.

“Better,” concedes Mr. Stark, slowing down again. “So let’s talk about all the naughty tonight, try to get to the bottom of it. Eddie says it was his idea, did he ask you for help?” Peter can hear Eddie’s in-drawn breath and struggles to get his words out as fast as he can, “N-no, Mr. Stark, he didn’t- he didn’t _ask.”_

“So you offered,” says Mr. Stark.

Peter winces, “Y-yes, Mr. Stark.”

“Mm. And the alcohol? They asked you to go fill those flasks?” There’s a flurry of harder blows after that before it settles back down and Peter can get enough air in his lungs to gasp, “N-no, Mr. Stark. I off-off-ered.”

“Seeing a pattern here, Mr. Parker?” teases Mr. Stark.

“I offer a lot?” hazards Peter.

“Mm. Who are you trying to impress, Mr. Parker?”

Peter shakes, because he hadn’t, hadn’t thought of it like _that_. Eddie on the couch sniffles again and whispers, “Oh no, _Peter_.”

“You hush,” Mr. Stark directs Eddie. “It’s his turn now. Answer me, Mr. Parker. Who are you trying to impress?”

Peter squirms and Mr. Stark lands another flurry of blows, huffing, “I can do this for as long as it takes, Mr. Parker. You set the pace.”

Peter gasps out, “Them! I was trying to- trying to impress them!”

“Uh huh. That’s what I thought. Any particular reason you think they need impressing?”

Peter presses his lips tight because he’s _not saying that._

Another flurry of blows has him begging, “Please, Mr. Stark, please, please.”

Mr. Stark’s tone is back to teasing as he continues to swat, saying, “Oh, no, _I’m_ the one who would rather talk, Mr. Parker. I’m _all_ _for_ stopping and chatting. _You’re_ the one who prefers the sound in this conversation to be made by your butt and my hand.” Eddie makes a pained noise and Peter flushes. 

“Please,” whispers Peter. “I’ll, I’ll talk, I’ll be good, please Mr. Stark.”

“Well, okay, one last chance,” and of course he takes the opportunity to emphasize his words with heavy swats, he’s _evil._ “Any particular reason you think they need impressing, Mr. Parker?” he repeats.

“I just- I just want them to be my friends,” sobs Peter, his frame starting to shake with all the emotions coursing through him.

“And they won’t be your friends unless you get them illegal alcohol- and we’re talking about _that_ next, don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten _anything_ \- and help them break the rules they’ve agreed to live by?”

Peter shakes his head. There’s no way to answer that question. He’s crying, now, he realizes and figures, _fuck it_ , because so is everyone else.

“I think you’re doing them a disservice,” says Mr. Stark. “But conveniently, we have one right here we can ask. Eddie!” Peter can see Eddie’s feet startle. “If Peter had said, ‘No, let’s be good tonight,’ what would you have done?”

Eddie says, reluctantly, “Probably been good with him.” Peter raises one hand to scrub his eyes with the back of his wrist, gasping, and Mr. Stark starts rubbing his back gently, in soothing little circles.

“Mm-hmm,” agrees Mr. Stark. “I thought so. And if he’d said, ‘No, let’s follow the _legal_ _laws_ for drinking,’ what would you have done?” 

Peter _gets_ it, okay? He _gets_ it, but he can’t make Mr. Stark _stop_ , so he just hangs there and cries some more, listening.

“Had juice,” says Eddie staunchly.

“Had juice,” repeats Mr. Stark musingly. “Not made fun of Peter? Not told him to buzz off and leave you alone?” 

Peter moans and rolls his eyes. _He gets it, already_.

“N-no, Mr. Stark,” says Eddie firmly. “We like Peter. We _never_ get to see him. It was just a _s-stupid_ idea I had. And f-fucking _Ryan_ , he’s _always_ messing with Bryce and Hunter.”

“I think you’ve had enough warnings about soap, we’ll take care of that once I’ve got him settled,” Mr. Stark says mildly. Peter’s breath catches in his throat and he chokes for a second before holding his breath.

“S-sorry, Mr. Stark,” whimpers Eddie, and Peter can see his legs squirm on the couch. “I’m so _s-stupid_ sometimes.” 

“And that’ll get you soaped the next time I hear it, too, Eddie. You’re not stupid, ever. I don’t want to hear it again,” and Mr. Stark’s voice is so kind and fierce that Peter starts crying again. He hears Eddie start up, too, so at least he’s not alone.

“So now we have a room full of spanked subs, Mr. Parker,” Mr. Stark says, raising his head and pausing when Peter tenses. His voice is a little strained as he smacks it down gently, making Peter jump, “Because you didn’t trust that your friends like you just for you and could use a voice of reason to talk them down from their bad ideas from time to time.”

Peter starts sobbing again. His head is full of snot and pressure and his butt is on fire and he feels so stupid, but he’s definitely not saying that last one aloud.

“So, in the future, what are we going to do so we never have to do this again?” asks Mr. Stark reasonably, picking the faster rhythm back up again, and he’s not even breathing hard.

Peter is having trouble stringing together two coherent thoughts, they keep getting interrupted by _ow_ and _please make him stop_. “Not that, not, I’m going to _think_ ,” gasps Peter. “I’m going to _think_ and tell them, tell them to _not_.”

“Yeah, that’s a good plan,” agrees Mr. Stark. Peter sighs in relief. “So now, on to those flasks. Tell me again how that happened?”

Peter bites his lip as Mr. Stark lands several fast and furious blows. “Words, Mr. Parker,” Mr. Stark warns him.

“I said I needed drinks for you and Ms. Potts,” gasps Peter as soon as he has the air to do so. “I said, I got you drinks, it’s wasn’t a _lie._ ”

“No, that was later, with Jack,” agrees Mr. Stark, and the blows come faster and faster, land harder.

“I’m sorry,” wails Peter, finally. “I’m sorry, I won’t, I’m sorry.”

“You should be,” says Mr. Stark, slowing down, softening, but not stopping and Peter would really desperately like to figure out how to get _that_ to happen. “You will be, if you ever pull anything like that again. You know I think those laws are bullshit, but they’re still laws, Mr. Parker, and you signed the Accords saying you would _actively_ _follow_ _laws_ and J. Jonah is just _aching_ for a reason to start ripping into you again. Acquiring booze for three underage friends at a _charity function_ so you can sulk in the cloak room? _Exactly_ what he’s looking for, Mr. Parker.”

Peter can’t breathe, his lungs are on fire, his face is on fire, his butt is on fire, he’s completely enflamed, how is Mr. Stark just _sitting_ there, he should be doing stop-drop-and-roll. 

“Any remaining confusion on that issue?” Mr. Stark checks, pausing his hand for a moment. “Just want to make sure it’s completely crystal clear.”

Peter gasps, “Clear, crystal clear, yes, sir, never again, ‘m _sorry.”_

“Good boy,” says Mr. Stark. “Learn faster.”

There’s another pause and Peter opens his eyes a little, stretching them, and then wipes his face with his forearm. There’s no other sounds in the room except for sniffles and murmurs and whimpers and cries.

“Okay, last one,” says Mr. Stark, and he starts the deep, heavy, thumping smacks again. Peter groans and then whimpers, jumping with each one, he can’t help it. “What’s the most important rule?”

“H-honesty,” whispers Peter, squeezing his eyes shut to hopefully staunch the new flow of tears.

“Sorry, didn’t catch that, what was it?” says Mr. Stark, smacking him harder. 

“Honesty,” projects Peter. It’s not a _yelp_ , he wouldn’t _yelp._

“Correct,” Mr. Stark agrees. “Do you think Jack appreciates that you didn’t give it to him? Is that a great way to start a new friendship? Good foundation to build from?”

“N-no, sir,” hisses Peter. “N-no, it’s n-not.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think so, and I don’t think he thinks so, either. When we’re done here, and I’m soaping up Eddie, you might want to go try to fix that.”

“Y-yess, sir,” sobs Peter. “Yess, sir, okay. ‘m _sorry_ , sir.”

“You should be. Tonight was just as bad as that temper tantrum you threw after D.C. Maybe worse.” The censure in his voice leaves Peter panting. His hand returns to rest on Peter’s butt as he inquires, “Ready to put it away?”

Peter shakes his head, gasping for breath, and then, oxygen acquired, nods. “Yes, sir,” he whimpers.

“Good boy,” praises Mr. Stark. “Almost done. Stay where I put you.”

Peter nods, and then remembers _words_ enough to choke out, “Yes, sir,” miserably.

Mr. Stark smacks him so hard and so much Peter loses track of anything but trying to breathe and sobbing, “‘m _sorry_ ,” as he can, mixed with, “ _Please,_ Mr. Stark, _please.”_

Eventually he realizes it has stopped. Mr. Stark is telling Jack, “Enhanced healing factor, really gotta smack him to get it to stick for longer than a few minutes,” and Peter feels his whole face and neck inflame with shame as he gasps and shakes and shivers. Mr. Stark starts stroking his back, rubbing gently. “Think you got the message, Trouble?” he tease gently.

Peter nods, and scrubs at his face, gasping for enough oxygen to whimper, “Y-yes, sir. Yes, sir, Mr. Stark, sir.

“Good. Let’s get you upright, then,” teases Mr. Stark, hauling him up and lifting his boxers and pants over his flaming ass, patting gently and clucking his tongue with good humor as Peter whimpers at him. “Go sit for a minute. Eddie, get over here.” He points to the ground in front of him and Eddie and Peter switch places again. Peter winces as his butt hits the couch, but when Mr. Stark says _sit_ , he definitely does not mean _stand._ Peter works on controlling his breathing and not looking at anyone. He’s got the carpet pattern _memorized_.

“Eddie, Eddie,” teases Mr. Stark, playing with the man’s curls a little. Eddie hunches into it, but not like he objects to the gentle touching. “What are we going to do with that mouth of yours? I know Kevin’s a stickler.”

“P-please don’t,” begs Eddie, lifting his eyes to Mr. Stark’s face searchingly. “I- I won’t, I promise I won’t.”

“Yeah, no, it’s happening, Eddie,” Mr. Stark tells him, voice a little playful. “Gotta wash out that tequila, too, _Edward_.” Eddie hunches his shoulders and ducks his head again. “Gonna give me a color, Eddie, like a good boy?”

“Greeen,” moans Eddie, fingers picking at Mr. Stark’s pant cuff. “But please, do we have to?”

“Did I hear several warnings about language?” Mr. Stark asks him.

Eddie nods and says, “Yes, sir,” so miserably Peter has no idea how Mr. Stark can move forward with his plan.

“I thought I did, too,” agrees Mr. Stark, nodding. “So do you think warnings have meaning or are they just hot air?”

Eddie hunches even further and glances up at Mr. Stark. “They have meaning,” he concedes, and Peter aches for him because _ewwww_.

“All right, let’s go see if there’s a fussy bathroom somewhere with some handsoap. I do not envy you if all they have is liquid in this joint,” Mr. Stark tells Eddie, standing up and holding a hand down to the other man. “Peter, be back in about five minutes. You have a job you wanted to go take care of, didn’t you?”

Peter nods, flushing again. He doesn’t _want_ to, but his sense of fairness and his sore butt underscore that he’s totally going to do it anyway. They leave the library and Jack says, “Over here, Peter,” in a quiet voice that gives Peter absolutely no wiggle room to pretend this isn’t happening. 

Peter stands up and walks over to where Jack is sitting, Dylan on his lap, in a big green chair. Jack slides Dylan to the ground beside his leg, where Dylan whimpers and then leans his head on Jack’s knee. Jack gestures for Peter to come, what, perch on his knee? Well, it feels weird to be standing, anyway, so Peter slides down and bites his lip as his butt connects with Jack’s thigh. “Something you wanted to say, Mr. Parker?” asks Jack, and his tone is just as kind and teasing at the same time as Mr. Stark’s. Peter flushes and nods.

They wait a moment until Jack says, “I’m not a great mind-reader, Peter.”

Peter flushes again and stammers, “‘m sorry, Mr. Taylor.”

“Just Jack’s fine,” Jack tells him. “What are you sorry for, little Peter Parker?”

Peter blushes, and squirms the smallest allowable amount because he can’t sit still but his butt is on fire. He glances up at Jack through his eyelashes and mutters, “I lied to you. It wasn’t Mr. Stark that switched the seats. It was us.”

“Mm,” agrees Jack, that same hum him and Kevin and Mr. Stark have been using all night. _What does that even mean?_ thinks Peter savagely. “Honesty is important to us, isn’t it, little Peter Parker? Especially with how we live our lives, the things we choose to do with each other.”

Peter nods miserably. He _knows_ that. Kevin told him, he _knows_ that.

“Well,” drawls Jack, and Peter thinks wildly of a tiger playing with its prey. “Forgiveness is just as important, especially with bad men like me. I’m sure you’ll get to hear me apologize to you at some point, and I’d want to be forgiven, too.”

Peter’s heart soars wildly in his chest. “Please?” he asks pitifully. “I am sorry, I’m _so_ sorry.” His flaming backside absolutely agrees.

“I can tell,” laughs Jack, and he pats Peter on the butt, which makes Peter hiss. His green eyes soften and he murmurs, “You’re a very good boy, little Peter Parker. I’ll forgive you. But the next time it happens, if it happens, I’m sorting you out myself, deal?”

Peter bites his lip but nods. That’s only fair.

“Sorry, still haven’t figured out how to read minds yet, little boy,” says Jack, and Peter blushes. He’s _not a kid_. 

“Yes, sir, green, sir,” he confirms in a choked voice.

“Tony is a very lucky bad man,” Jack tells him, eyes twinkling. “You are something else. Think you should go over to Kevin next, apologize for knowing his rules and helping his boys _break_ them?”

Peter groans and collapses, just for a minute, against Jack’s chest, just to gather his strength. Jack chuckles and says, “You can do it. And think of how proud Mr. Stark will be when he comes back and you’ve taken care of everything.” Peter nods, miserably, but rises. Jack slips Dylan back up onto his lap. Peter feels a little bit better when Dylan yelps and Jack chuckles, but not much. 

He slinks over to where Kevin is sitting on a deep green couch, Bryce and Hunter stretched out on either side, heads on his lap, sniffling and wiping at their faces. He stands in front of Kevin and feels miserable, not knowing where to even _start_.

Kevin watches him for a long few moments and then says, “I am beginning to see why my old friend insists you are Trouble, Peter Parker.” Hunter looks green, giving Peter a sympathetic eye roll, and Bryce scrubs his face on Kevin’s pants leg. Peter gasps in a deep breath and then mumbles, “I’m so sorry, Kevin, I should have, I wanted to, I just, but I _knew_ \- I’m _sorry_.”

Kevin looks at him, still visibly peeved and says, “If my old friend has any sense, you won’t sit for a week, that was a lot of concentrated naughtiness in one evening out, Mr. Parker.” Bryce scrubs his face again and Hunter chokes and sighs.

Peter winces to hear everything he’s done tonight- he _broke_ the _law-_ reduced to nothing but “naughtiness.” He hates that word, too, he decides. It's right up there with _tantrum_.

“I know,” he whispers, leaving aside the _won’t sit for a week_ thing. He’s not touching that one with a stick.

“Well, I’m not pleased and there had better never be a repeat, or I will absolutely engage our old system and see if an outside hand can help matters,” Kevin warns him before saying, “But I think I heard enough of that to understand it came from a lonely place and so I can afford to forgive you. This once.”

There’s silence, and Peter knows he’s been forgiven, but he doesn’t feel like it, as the door cracks open and he hears Mr. Stark and a sniffling Eddie re-enter the library. The door clicks shut and the lock is re-engaged.

“And we’ll work toward a more permanent solution by getting these boys together more often so that Peter can practice telling Eddie ‘No,’” Kevin tells Mr. Stark, who nods easy agreement, to Peter’s relief. 

“Although the constant practice didn’t seem to help the rest of them this time,” sighs Kevin, shaking his head and shooting Eddie an exasperated look.

Mr. Stark says, “Okay, Eddie, go tell Kevin what you need to, Peter, get over here.” He snaps his fingers again and that’s exactly where Peter _wants to be_ , so he flies to Mr. Stark’s side and only winces a little as Mr. Stark settles them into a chair mid-way between Jack’s chair and Kevin’s couch, within easy sight of both. Kevin pulls Eddie into his lap, to mumble apologies into his ear, and then there’s silence for a moment, with just a few last sniffles.

“Pepper is ticked,” Mr. Stark murmurs into Peter’s hair, “So be prepared for that ride home, Trouble.” Peter winces and buries his face in Mr. Stark’s jacket, scrubbing his cheek a little.

Silence reigns over the room for a moment more before Jack says, “Okay, did everybody who desperately needed a spanking, a mouthwashing, or a lecture get one?” Peter is relieved to notice he’s not the only one making little noises of discomfort, blushing, and squirming. “Well, good. Is everyone capable of putting on their best behavior?” he continues.

All five men nod anxiously, looking up at their respective partners to see how well they’re believed. Dylan, notes Peter with interest out of the corner of his eye, looks up at _Jack_. Mr. Stark taps Peter's nose with one finger, mock-severely.

“Okay, then I think we’re done here. Let’s go scrub faces and straighten jackets and get back up there before Pepper decides to come down here and then you _will_ be in trouble, gentlemen,” says Jack severely, putting Dylan on the floor to stand. Dylan clings just a minute before Jack says, “Shoo, back to your daddy, naughty thing. Remember what I said about _helping me_.”

Dylan nods, and sniffles, as Kevin cuffs him and says, “We’ll talk more tonight, he’ll start being helpful immediately,” to Jack. Jack nods back at Kevin, and then turns towards the door. He glances at Peter and Mr. Stark, standing, Peter gathering up his and Eddie’s coats, and there’s something a little bit like a gleam of hope in his expression as he announces to Mr. Stark, “That one,” and he points a severe finger at Peter, “is a bundle of trouble and you should definitely keep him on a shorter leash. He’s too pretty and too smart.”

Peter blushes. Mr. Stark’s arms tighten around him and he says gruffly, “Agreed. What are your feelings about choke-chains, Trouble?”

Jack laughs, and Peter laughs once, too, at how ridiculous this all is, and then they’re out of the room. Mr. Stark leads the way to a small staff restroom, where they wash their faces with cold water and paper towels and try to look less disheveled. Eddie looks positively mutinous when Kevin says, “Oh, _castile_ soap, I know that brand. Not enough suds,” and Mr. Stark replies, “We made do.” But Eddie doesn’t say anything, just pats his eyes and slips on his jacket. 

There’s a flurry of checking for seams and straightness and then Mr. Stark says, “Okay, we look good. Peter and me first, Pepper really will kill me if I stretch this out, I’m supposed to be _helping_ her tonight.” Peter winces. “Ready, Trouble?” Peter realizes he’s going to have to go through the rest of the night- it’s not even 8 o’clock- with a butt that is on fire and he groans a little. 

“No, you’re right, completely unfair question,” agrees Mr. Stark with a chuckle, straightening Peter’s tie. Peter blushes up at him and Dylan sighs a little, leaning into Hunter. 

“Get ready, Trouble,” Mr. Stark directs in a teasing tone instead. “I don’t want to hear one whimper of complaint on those pretty lips. You deserve everything you’re about to get.”

Peter nods, and before Mr. Stark can remind him, he says, “Yes, sir.”

“Here,” says Kevin, tossing Jack one of the flasks. “Can’t stand the stuff, take this one, too,” he says, re-capping the second bottle of tequila and tossing it next. Jack opens one and smiles, saying, “Don’t mind if I do, as I am a legal, lawful adult well within my rights.”

Mr. Stark laughs and reaches for his pocket. “Okay, time for this, I guess. Kevin?”

“It would be a crime to waste good bourbon,” Kevin declares, grabbing the last flask and twisting the cap off with a smooth flick of his fingers. Kevin’s four men exchange frustrated and embarrassed glances with each other while Peter feels his heart beat just a little faster as Mr. Stark uncaps his and lifts it to his lips, smirking over it at Jack.

Mr. Stark takes a sip and then sputters, laughing. “Oh my God, Peter.”

Peter shifts his feet as everyone turns to stare at them. “What? I can’t, alcohol doesn’t affect me, Mr. Stark, you know that. And I didn’t want to get you in trouble, if, if we were found out.”

“Oh my God, Peter,” laughs Mr. Stark again, and then passes him the flask. “ _Cranberry_ juice?”

“It’s all she had,” protests Peter, taking a sip because _why not, he’s earned it_. Kevin and Jack are laughing, sipping on their flasks, and the other men are starting to catch on and giggle, too. “I didn’t want orange juice, that’d be harder to clean out.”

“Oh my God, Peter,” repeats Mr. Stark, shaking his head. Peter hunches his shoulders a little.

Jack holds out the second flask and Mr. Stark takes it, shaking his head and laughing as he tips it back. “Oh, this one must have been Eddie’s,” he gasps after tilting it back down. “There’s hardly any left in here.” He caps it and tosses it back to Eddie. “Hold onto that until you turn 21, you little brat. Then I’ll take you out and show you how to sip _good_ tequila.”

Eddie hunches his shoulders but also looks a little sly and proud.

“Okay, upstairs, Pepper can kill you now,” Mr. Stark chuckles, pushing Peter ahead of him. Peter caps the flask he’s holding and hands it to Mr Stark, who takes it with another bark of laughter, pocketing it. “I’ll let her, you deserve it. Perfect Peter Parker, I can’t wait to tell her, oh my God, this night can be over any minute now, I can’t wait to tell her.” They arrive at the entrance and the whole room is still dancing and sitting around at the tables talking. No one looks up as they slip in, no flashbulbs go off, and Mr. Stark steers them directly to where Pepper is standing, champagne glass in hand and a serene look on her face. 

Her lips twitch as they near and she murmurs, “Everything all sorted out, then, Mr. Stark?”

“Completely,” Mr. Stark tells her, laughter still tingeing his voice a bit brighter than normal. “Wait ‘til I tell you, you’ll die.”

“Killing Peter first,” she reminds him, her lips twitching in the smallest scowl at Peter. He admires her control and professionalism a little, with all the bits of him that don’t startle into a frozen fear. “It was only a little over a half-hour but seriously, Peter, did you have to fall for Eddie’s bad boy bullshit? Every year, Tony. Every _year_.”

“He’s new yet,” Mr. Stark says smugly. “He’s learning, he wasn’t even the main culprit this time, that was _ours_.”

“No,” murmurs Pepper, leaning a little to look at Peter with twinkling eyes. “Not my _sweetheart_.” Peter blushes and then shrugs at her, nodding his confession.

“I told you he's Trouble,” Mr. Stark teases her.

Peter thinks fast and offers, “I can dance with you, Ms. Potts? Apology?”

She smiles at him and hands Mr. Stark her champagne flute. “Hold this, I have some trouble to attend to,” she tells Mr. Stark. “Caterer was looking for you, too, so stay spry.”

“Got it,” rumbles Mr. Stark, scanning the crowd of people. “Oh, hey, before you head out there, look at that new development,” he says nodding in the direction of the entrance. Kevin is holding Bryce’s arm, while Eddie slinks after him and Hunter walks beside him. Dylan and Jack enter from the opposite side of the entrance, and slide quickly into a conversation with Angelica and Michael. Jack has one hand gently on the small of Dylan’s back, and Dylan looks up at him with adoring eyes as he says something with a wicked look on his face to Angelica that makes her laugh.

“Oh,” says Pepper, turning wide eyes to Peter. “Okay, you’re talking while we dance, and telling me _everything_.”

Peter blushes and she says, “Well, okay, you can save some of it for the limo, but you’re talking, Peter Parker. You _owe_ me. I covered for you _both_.”

He nods at her and says, “Okay, Ms. Potts,” and then sweeps them into the crowd of dancers.

~~~

It’s well past midnight when the door to the limo closes and Pepper kicks her feet onto Peter’s lap. “Ugh,” she moans. “Not enough function, too much fashion, owww.”

Peter slips off the shoes and starts rubbing. Pepper moans, “Okay, this feature on the toy was designed for me tonight, Perfect Peter Parker, I owe you one.” She opens an eye, leans forward, and rubs her nose against his.

“Ack, stop,” groans Mr. Stark, slipping out of his shoes and glaring at the both of them. “Too cute, and I’m too tired to do anything about it. What another _rousing success_ of a year, Ms. Potts.”

Pepper glows back at him, and then tilts her head back and murmurs, “So how’s the butt, sweetheart?”

Peter chokes, fingers stuttering in their slow rubs. “F-fine,” he tries, shifting, because there is definitely still _some_ glow.

Mr. Stark glares over at him, “It better not be. I worked hard to make an _impression,_ almost had Jack on me for going too far before he got a good look at the healthy shade of red and I explained about your healing factor _issue_. I guarantee you _Eddie_ is still remembering my timely intervention into that disaster you two were building,” he adds.

Peter twitches, eyeing Mr. Stark cautiously through his eyelashes, remembering Kevin’s _won’t sit for a week_ statement. “Oh, it was impactful,” he assures Mr. Stark earnestly.

Pepper snorts, “He told me about the coat closet, Tony. I almost stumbled out there on the dance floor. I don’t get that ‘pain is sexy’ thing you both seem to enjoy but I did have a moment there when I understood the spanking butt bit. How _could_ you, Peter?” she scolds. He feels a blush creep up, and opens his mouth to reply.

“Dealt with,” interrupts Mr. Stark. “We put it away, no need to rehash it all.”

Peter feels a dizzying amount of relief at that statement and shoots Mr. Stark a grateful look, getting a little caught by the affection the man sends back through their shared glance.

“Mm,” agrees Pepper, relaxing again. “Well, he’s bunking in with us tonight, not letting him out of our sight until I’m sure his brain is working again. I swear, Eddie’s _infectious_.”

Mr. Stark chuckles as the car continues to glide silently through the night. “You know, Pep, I think it’s good for Peter, getting in a little trouble.” Peter startles, shocked. Mr. Stark catches his gaze again and says, cheerfully, “When have you ever had the _opportunity,_ Peter? When have you ever not had to be _actually_ perfect and _actually_ well-behaved? A little mischief that I can sort out- and I will, I am _signed on_ for sorting you out, I’ll be flipping the switch on that shortcut any time you ask- a little harmless mischief with someone like Eddie? More healthy than that pressure cooker life you’ve been living since that spider bit you.”

Pepper makes a worldless noise of agreement, and Peter thinks, strangely, of the moment after Uncle Ben had told him of his parents’ death, later that night, sitting in bed, feeling small. “It’s not right,” Ben had said, “you being left without your dad and mom. But you’re a good kid, easy to love, Peter, and we’ll take you in, May and me. It won’t be the same, but we have big hearts and a big house, Peter. It’s a big responsibility for a man to take on, raising up someone else’s kid to be a good man, but it’s my honor, Peter.” He remembers the feeling that drew his shoulders back, tightened his jaw, as he had said, “I’ll be so good. So easy. I won’t, I won’t be a ‘sponsibility.” He remembers how Uncle Ben had chuckled and pulled him in for a hug, and how he’d gripped back so fiercely.

He stares at Mr. Stark and watches the man nod, once, slowly. Peter's jaw tightens, because there’s a shockingly deep well of _understanding_ there, in those familiar dark eyes. 

“Yeah, Trouble,” Mr. Stark says, leaning over to pat Peter’s knee. “Yeah, I got you. You can mess up a little, I’ll be there to sort you out when you need it.”

Peter can feel so many emotions welling up. He swallows and goes with the easiest one, smiling a little weakly, before saying, “Thank you, Mr. Stark, sir. My butt would like to register a complaint about your methodology.”

“Design me a better shortcut, and we’ll talk,” laughs Mr. Stark, shaking Peter’s knee and settling back.

The moment leaks into the next one, as the city flows past them, until Pepper says, “Dibs on first shower,” and Mr. Stark says, “Oh, _he’s_ clean, so it’s just me, Pep. You gonna kick me out?” he teases.

She slides him a fond and quelling glance. “Depends entirely on if you’re smart enough to give me a back rub.”

“Baby, I’ll even give you a front rub,” teases Mr. Stark. “Just let me catch six hours of sleep first.”

“Eight,” negotiates Pepper.

“Seven,” compromises Mr. Stark.

“Deal,” says Pepper, sliding further down the seat, twitching her feet in Peter’s grip. “Don’t stop,” she commands him, “or I’ll start talking about _filling_ _flasks_ , again.”

Peter wasn’t planning on stopping, anyway. Peter was going to just keep going, for as long as he could. He never expected a night like this, a whirl like this, but he wouldn’t trade Mr. Stark’s orbit for anything else, any other life. He can rub Pepper’s feet until 2 a.m. if she needs it. He _owes her one_ , anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Come meet me in the comment section with a list of your demands (I seriously have a list of all the plotbunnies people have farmed off to me so because I love new ideas), but keep it cool with the critiquing, guys, I'm new. Compliment sandwiches WORK.
> 
> Also, I can't stress enough that I have been trying to post this damn thing since 10 PM last night and the Archive kept kicking me out and I NEED A STIFF DRINK but now it's time for work and it posted just in time for me to only be five minutes late.


End file.
